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HUNT THE SLIPPER 


A NOVEL 


BY 

OLIVER MADOX HUEFFER 

U 

(JANE WARDLE) 

AUTHOR OF “the ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT,” “ THE LORD OF LATIMER STREET,” 
“where truth LIES,” “MARJORY PIGEON,” ETC., ETC, 


II y a des honnhes gens partout” 


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NEW YORK 

JOHN LANE COMPANY 


MCMXIV 


Printed in Great Britain 


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GEORGE GRANTHAM BAIN 


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CONTENTS 

PART I , 

SIR EDWARD FANHOPE’S NARRATIVE 

PART II 

PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE . 

PART III 

KITTY WILLIAMSON'S NARRATIVE 

PART IV 

MISS l'estrange’s narrative . 

PART V 

ivo talboys’ narrative . 

PART VI 

basil’s narrative .... 

PART VII 

IVO’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 

PART VIII 


PAGB 

9 


6o 


94 


Ii8 


141 


237 


258 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 


. 282 


f 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


PART I 

SIR EDWARD FANHOPE’S 
NARRATIVE 

CHAPTER I 

Unless I am wrong in my facts, which I do not for 
a moment believe, the office of Justice of the Peace 
is among the oldest and most honourable in our 
country, dating certainly from the year of our Lord 
1264, when as Mr. Grist, our excellent Cleric, in- 
forms me, the name “ custos pacis ” first appears in 
English records. Under slightly different designa- 
tions I understand that we have existed almost from 
the dawn of history. On the other hand. County 
Councils, stipendiaries and the like are purely 
modern and untried. I mention this, not to dis- 
prove the old sneer against “Justices’ justice,” 
which is, I fear, frequently justified in some parts 
of the country, but as indicating that even in these 
days we have the right to expect common politeness 
from members of the County Councils, however 
eminent in their own opinion. 

I have and have always had a high regard for 
Richard Witham. We were at school together 


10 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


some seventy years ago when, as he has long 
since forgotten, I suppose, he was my fag at 
Winton — and he certainly did not set up his own 
opinion against mine in those days. I have no 
doubt that, as the senior member of the most re- 
spectable firm of solicitors in Ashurst, he knows 
the law well enough. 1 am always ready to con- 
sider any point submitted by him, even when it goes 
against the opinion of Mr. Grist, who is at least as 
well qualified as himself. But when, in open court, 
he flatly accuses me of prejudice and of ignoring the 
law of evidence, there I draw the line. 

I freely admit that 1 dislike motor-cars and their 
drivers. They cause innumerable accidents to life 
and limb ; they cut up our roads until the county 
rates become unbearable ; they deteriorate our 
breed of horses, as we shall discover to our cost in 
the next war ; their hooting and their stenches 
devastate the country-side. All this is beyond argu- 
ment. Yet I acknowledge them a necessary evil, 
and admit that it is too late to hope for their abo- 
lition. And 1 would ask any unprejudiced person 
whether the following badgering of a perfectly 
respectable witness is in accordance with the prin- 
ciples of English justice and fair play. 

Richard Witham who, being seventy-five years of 
age, is certainly old enough to know better, was 
himself the defendant, on a charge of exceeding the 
speed limit on the main London road, between 
Ashurst and Folkstone. The chief witness against 
him was Police Constable Lyman, formerly Lance- 
Corporal in the old 145th Regiment. He is a 
zealous and efficient officer and obtained his present 
post upon my own strong recommendation. I have 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 11 


been told, by ignorant busybodies, though I do not 
for a moment believe it, that he has, or had, a weak- 
ness for strong drink. Whether or no, he has 
certainly never been seen intoxicated when on duty, 
or our worthy Superintendent would have had 
something to say about it, you may be sure. Yet 
these are the questions that the defendant had the 
effrontery to put to him, in my presence as chair- 
man. 

“You have said that I came suddenly round the 
corner at forty-eight miles an hour without sounding 
my horn, and that only your presence of mind in 
clambering up the bank by the roadside saved you 
from being run down. Are you prepared to swear 
to that ? ” 

“ Haven’t I sworn to it already ? ” 

“Very well. That is what I wish to make clear. 
Are you equally ready to swear that you were sober 
at the time ” 

“ I don’t think you ought ” 

“ The facts are in question, not what you think. 
You are on oath, remember.” 

“ I was not on duty then, sir.” 

“ Answer my question. Were you, or were you 
not strictly sober ” 

Lymon looked across to me, for guidance perhaps, 
but Mr. Grist was not at the moment in court, and, 
lest I might lay us both open to some legal in- 
nuendo, I pretended to be consulting my notes. 

“Answer my question,” roared Witham again. 

“ Stands to reason I was,” answered Lyman, very 
shrewdly, I thought. “ I had been over at Mallinge 
visiting my sister Mary, what keeps the ‘ Crown ’ 
there. Think she would let me leave her house 


12 HUNT THE SLIPPER 

not sober and perhaps risk her licence ? Not 
likely.” 

“ How much had you to drink there ^ ” 

I managed to catch Mr. Grist’s eye as he returned 
to court, but he shook his head slightly as a sign 
that I could not properly interfere. 

“ I hadn’t had but two half-pints.” 

“ Nothing else You are on oath.” 

“ 1 may have given her my opinion on a new 
brand of Scotch she was thinking of trying.” 

“ Exactly. And on your way home, how many 
licensed houses did you pass ^ ” 

“ How should I know, sir ? ” 

“ As a police officer it is your duty to know. 
But perhaps I can refresh your memory. There is 
the ‘ Cock ’ at Harbinge. Did you call in there on 
your way home ? ” 

“ I may have.” 

“ What did you drink there ? ” 

“ 1 don’t remember.” 

“ Were you so far gone already ? ” 

“ I wasn’t. How could I be far gone ? 1 hadn’t 

touched nothing, to speak of.” 

“ Then there is the ‘ Plough,’ half a Aiile this side 
of Harbinge. Did you look in there ? ” 

“ I may have.” 

“ And the ‘ Chequers’ at West Harbinge ^ ” 

“ No, I didn’t. I don’t like the beer they serve.” 
“ Quite sure ^ It was a chilly evening, remember, 
and there is not another licensed house for nearly 
another mile.” 

“ I ain’t a Radical.” 

“ Answer my question. Did you or did you not 
call there ? ” 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 13 


“ And if I did, where was the harm in it ? ” 

“ I am not suggesting that there was any harm in 
it. Now — another point. At the time you saw me, 
how many cars were coming round that corner ? ” 

“ How many ? 

“ Will you swear — you are on oath, remember — 
that there was only one ^ 

“ I — I have said what I have to say already.” 

“ You will swear — in spite of anything that other 
witnesses may swear to the contrary — that there 
was only the one car in sight ^ ” 

“ I — I — can’t remember that there wasn’t ” 

“ You see, your worships.” 

And so on, until the wretched witness did not 
know whether he was standing on his heels or his 
head. I am not, thank Heaven, a lawyer, but it 
was clear enough that such badgering of a respect- 
able man, whose official position, let alone his record 
as a soldier, should have protected him, was nothing 
less than an affront to the Court. When the 
opportunity came, I made short work of Mr. 
Witham’s cross-examination. My judgment, in 
which my colleagues — Sir Claude Hogben and 
Mr. Arthur Cronk — heartily agreed, was that the 
defendant should be fined ten pounds, and five 
guineas costs, his licence to be endorsed accordingly. 
In delivering it I took pleasure in pointing out that 
only his age, his position as a member of the Kent 
County Council, and the fact that nothing else was 
known against him, prevented me from imposing a 
term of imprisonment. 

He was never the sort of man to be grateful for 
such lenity. Almost before I had finished my 
remarks he gave notice of appeal to Quarter 


14 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


Sessions, on the grounds, as far as I can remember, 
of prejudice and the admission of inadmissible 
evidence. His manner was so offensive that I 
seriously considered whether I ought not to commit 
him for contempt. This occurred, let me add, upon 
Tuesday, September 19th last, the day before my 
birthday, and was fully reported in the local Press 
of the following morning. 

The business before the Court disposed of, I 
usually take tea at the ‘ Bull * before driving back to 
Squirrels. I had finished my tea and toast — they 
make excellent toast at the ‘ Bull,’ before a real fire 
instead of the horrid gas-stoves now in fashion, which 
heat the bread to a hateful equality. I had paid the 
bill and already ordered round the dog-cart, when 
who should enter the coffee room but Dick Witham 
himself? I was not alone ; Mr. Grist was my guest 
for the occasion and several others were seated at 
neighbouring tables. As it happened, we had been 
discussing the events of the day, in which, as you 
may suppose, Witham’s name figured with some 
prominence. 

There was a sudden silence as he came in. I 
hoped that the earnestness with which I stirred my 
empty cup might warn him of my feelings, but, 
without a with-your-leave or by-your-leave he came 
straight across to my table and told me, ignoring 
Mr. Grist, that he had a word for my private ear. 
Witham certainly has manner ; Mr. Grist, a much 
younger man, quite lost his presence of mind and 
made off, murmuring something about an engage- 
ment he had forgotten. Those at the neighbouring 
tables hitched their chairs forward as though to lose 
nothing of what passed. 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 15 


I received my unwelcome visitor with all due 
reserve. ‘‘What do want with me ? ” I asked him. 

He sat down beside me and laid his hand on 
mine, so that I could not withdraw it without seem- 
ing ungracious. “ My dear old Ned,” he said, “ I 
have something — something important to say to 
you.” 

I could not very well ignore an appeal so direct. 
I supposed of course that he wished me to remit 
part of his fine. 

“ I am sorry,” I told him. “ 1 can do nothing. 
1 have given my decision, and there is nothing more 
to be said.” 

“ Ned,” he persisted obstinately, “ I want you 
to draw your mind away from our little local 
squabbles about nothing. I have ” 

“ I don’t know what you mean,” I told him, very 
truly. “ Because it has been my painful duty ” 

“ We know all about that,” he interrupted, irrit- 
ably. “ You were entirely in the wrong, of course, 
both in law and justice. Trust your Clerk for that. 
But — oh, my dear Ned — to-morrow is your birth- 
day.” 

“ I am at least as well aware of it as you are,” I 
reminded him. “ If you are appealing for leniency 
on that account, please to remember that my private 
affairs and those of the State have no ” 

“ You infernal old idiot,” he burst out, as though 
we were still at school together, but he checked 
himself at once. “ Listen to me,” he went on, more 
soberly. “ What I have to say to you has nothing 
whatever to do with all that. 1 have something to 
tell you — something to show you — that will please 
you. I came here for that purpose, but ” He 


16 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


glanced round at the attentive tables and raised his 
voice a little. “ It is impossible to talk in this long- 
eared menagerie. Let me know where and when I 
can see you to-morrow. It will be better than to- 
day. It will be the very best day of all.” 

Looking at his face attentively I could read that 
he was deeply in earnest and that he was regarding 
me with something very like affection, the less to be 
expected that our estrangement has now endured 
for something like twenty years. ‘‘ If you have 
really something that you wish to tell me,” I said, 

“ something not connected with the administration 
of justice, I — I shall be at home all day to-morrow, 
as you probably know. The — my friends are in the 
habit of arriving at Squirrels at eleven in the 
forenoon — — ” 

“ As I am not a friend, Ned,” he said, smiling 
rather queerly, “ but only your oldest acquaintance, 

I will be with you at ten.” 

“ I shall be very glad to see you.” I fear my ■ 
manner may have seemed stiff, contrasted with his, 
but I could not altogether forget his attitude towards 
my poor son at the time he most needed a friend and 
a defender. For a moment it occurred to me that 
he might wish to re-open that most painful subject, 
but that I could not seriously consider, after the 
discord it had already wrought between us. Perhaps 
he realised the trend of my thoughts. 

“ It is nothing at all that need make you lose a 
night’s rest — or an hour’s,” he assured me. “ Quite 
the contrary. But — your cart is at the door — and I 
must get across to the office.” 

And with that I had to rest content for the time. 


CHAPTER II 


Upon Wednesday, September 20 th, I celebrated at 
once my seventy-seventh birthday and the fifty-sixth 
anniversary of that battle on the Alma heights in 
which my flatterers are kind enough to say that 
1 first distinguished myself. Following a long- 
established custom, a few intimate friends honoured 
the occasion by dining with me at my house near 
Ashurst in Kent. By a fortunate coincidence — 
which is perhaps not altogether a coincidence either 
— some half-dozen of us have settled down to end 
our lives within a ten-mile radius, and one of our 
conventions is religiously to observe the anni- 
versaries of our respective births. 

1 passed a disturbed night, having wasted some 
precious hours in vain imaginings of the news Dick 
Witham might have in store for me. I rose, how- 
ever, at eight, that I might have time, between 
breakfast and his coming, to see that all was in 
order for firing the salute with which we are accus- 
tomed to welcome the day of victory. I might, save 
for inclination, have spared myself the trouble ; 
Handasyde, my housekeeper, and Skase, the gar- 
dener, who have taken the ceremony under their 
especial care, are at least as keen about it as am I. 

1 found, then, everything in readiness. The two 
brass signal guns which form our battery, and which 


18 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


I really believe Handasyde keeps under her bed 
during the rest of the year, for I never see them at 
any other time, were established on the croquet- 
lawn, flanking the flagstaff. They were so brightly 
burnished that, in the morning sunlight, it was quite 
dazzling to look at them. The charges were neatly 
arranged beside them ; the Jack was already triced 
to the halyards, ready for hoisting. Handasyde 
was upon her knees beside one of the guns, giving 
it a final polish with a piece of chamois leather. 
Skase, leaning against the flagstaff with his hands 
in his pockets, seemed divided between telling her 
where to rub and watching Trix — my old bull-bitch, 
a present from Admiral Powys from his famous 
kennels on the “ Perseus ” — who was feebly attempt- 
ing to scrape off the bunting with which he had 
adorned her neck. 

As I came out through the French window, both 
stood to attention and saluted, Handasyde, although 
I have explained to her a thousand times, I suppose, 
that, when bareheaded, to stand at attention is all 
that is required of her. I believe myself she is 
confused by her recollection that women keep their 
heads covered in church. I cannot explain it 
otherwise. 

I was returning, a little later, from the paddock, 
where they were setting up the marquee for the 
school-children’s treat later in the day, when the 
honk-honking of his infernal horn warned me that 
Witham had arrived. I was just in time to see him 
charge through the gate at full speed, his white hair 
flying all about him, for he seemed to have lost his 
hat, and his overcoat as grey with dust as was the 
flat-headed, squat-legged monstrosity he was driving. 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 19 


His greetings were in character with his appearance. 
“ Fifteen seconds under the five minutes,” he cried, 
before he got out, staring at a clock set in his 
dash-board. “ Not bad that. Call up your myrmi- 
dons, your Worship.” 

I was too glad to see him to find any fault just 
then with his efforts to break his neck. I welcomed 
him with a warmth that surprised myself — never 
pausing to reflect that the stench from his Jugger- 
naut would blight every flower in the garden before 
I got rid of him again — and led the way into the 
library. 

It was good to see his sixteen stone standing iii 
the middle of the carpet again, pulling at his over- 
tight gloves just as he used to thirty years ago. 
The same idea must have struck him, for he peered 
round the walls one after another, as if in search of 
changes. “ Might have been yesterday,” he 
muttered ; and then, craning towards the inner wall, 
“ Hallo, Ned, you’ve changed the places of those 
two pictures.” As I had, fifteen years or so before. 
“ Now, how much time can you give me ? ” 

He was exactly punctual, as usual. We had a 
full hour before I need expect my other friends. 

“ That’s ample.” He settled back into the same 
armchair he had occupied on his last visit — I re- 
membered it very well, as perhaps did he. He had 
grown stouter in the interim, so that it was scarcely 
large enough for him. He perched his pince-nez on 
the very tip of his nose, as if he were going to 
juggle with them, fumbled in his breast pocket and 
produced a bundle of papers, neatly secured with 
red tape. 

“ You are sure it has nothing to do with — with 


20 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


public matters ? ” I asked liim. I felt I could not 
allow myself to be drawn into a quarrel with him 
on such a day. 

“Nothing at all,” he said absently, arranging his 
papers on his knee. “ It’s about poor Dicky.” 

I rose at once. “ Then — I am sorry — but I must 
decline to listen to you. We have said all that is to 
be said on that subject.” 

I was frankly amazed at his audacity. Upon 
the last occasion that my son was mentioned be- 
tween us I spoke my mind very freely. Although 
the poor boy was his godson and namesake, when- 
ever his high spirits led him into some boyish scrape 
— as was only too often the case — Witham’s attitude 
was always rather that of a stepfather ready to think 
the worst and to attribute the worst motives. 
When the poor lad finally disappeared, I gratefully 
acknowleged that he put himself to considerable 
trouble to avoid any open scandal, but at the same 
time his attitude was so unsympathetic as to arouse 
my natural resentment. From that day our old 
intimacy grew less, though we were still outwardly 
on friendly terms. The news of my son’s unhappy 
death put an end to all intercourse between us. It 
actually reached me through Witham, or his firm, 
for he still transacted my small legal business. He 
did not, however, trouble to come himself with the 
news, but sent his son Edward, my godson, to 
break it to me. It was only too clear that the poor 
lad had been murdered, most foully. Witham and 
his precious son made it perfectly clear that they 
believed the abominable lie, invented by some 
scoundrel of a newspaper reporter, I suppose, that 
he met his death after a brawl in a low drinking- 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 21 


hell, having quarrelled with some cut-throat over a 
woman. After that, as you may suppose, all pre- 
tence of friendship was at an end between us, and 
for the last ten years 1 do not suppose we exchanged 
as many words, except upon public matters. I 
sometimes wondered whether his behaviour was due 
to jealousy. His own three sons were well enough, 
in their dull, plodding way ; they are now partners 
in his business, and, I hear, do him sufficient credit. 
But in brains and looks and manners they were 
always the sheerest clods beside my Richard. 

With these things in my memory you may under- 
stand how I felt when he calmly reopened the old 
wound — and how emphatically I repelled him. He 
paid not the least attention, merely resettled his 
pince-nez and went on talking as though I were no 
more than an ill-tempered child. 

“We have always believed ” 

“ 1 absolutely refuse, I tell you ” 

“ That poor Dicky died at Portland, Oregon, in 
May, 1 8 86 . It seems we were mistaken.” 

I was already half-way to the door, to call for 
help in ejecting him, for he was too heavy for me 
to tackle alone. I stopped at his words and sat 
down heavily on the nearest chair. 

“ He did not in fact die until three years later,” 
went on Witham in his calm, matter-of-fact voice. 
“ When he died, it was — as a hero.” He looked 
round towards where 1 sat behind him. “ That is 
what I came to tell you to-day, old friend.” 

It was as though he were hypnotising me. I 
rose, quite without any volition of my own, drew 
a chair towards him and fell upon it. “ A hero ? 
Did you say a hero ? My son, you mean ^ ” 


22 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


Dear old Dick reached out a hand and patted my 
knee, the only bit of me he could reach. “ The 
earlier report was altogether a mistake. The body 
was not — the man we feared it to be, although it 
wore clothes marked with his name and had his 
watch in its pocket. It was another man, a Nor- 
wegian sailor. Dick was what they call there 
‘ shanghaid.' He was drugged in a sailor’s board- 
ing-house and while insensible was carried on board 
a ship. I understand that such a way of recruiting 
seamen is not uncommon in that part of the 
world.” 

I knew, and gratefully, that he was purposely 
talking in his driest tones to help me to recover 
myself. But it was no good — the sudden relief 
from a nightmare that had haunted me for years 
was too much for me. I had to beg him stop for a 
little, while 1 sat quiet. He held one of my hands 
as if I had been a baby. It was ridiculous of course, 
but it was very comforting. I needed something 
solid and firm to cling to while all my world was 
shivering about me. 

“ You can go on,” I whispered, after, I suppose, 
five minutes. “ I shall be all right now.” But I 
still clung to his hand, and an absurd couple we 
must have looked had there been any to see us. 

“ Dicky gave his life for a wretched Chinese 
servant.” He snorted contemptuously, though 
whether at Dicky or the Chinaman I do not know. 
“We have good authority for holding that the 
truest kind of heroism.” 

I believe he assumed the gruffest of voices to hide 
the sound of tears in it. 

“ You have brought me a birthday present indeed,” 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 23 


I told him as the most comfortable thing for him 
that I could think of. 

“ I may as well tell you the whole story.” He 
picked up the bundle of papers again, as a sign that 
he eschewed further sentimentality. ‘‘ The name 
of the vessel was the Mary G. McGuire, an Ameri- 
can trading-brig, bound for Sydney, New South 
Wales. Either before or after reaching that port, 
more probably before, she called at Port Moresby, 
in New Guinea, where Dicky left her, took French 
leave, I suppose. He stayed there for some time, 
for what purpose we can only conjecture. He 
there met a Miss Heinsius, the daughter of a 
Moravian missionary. That was in the early 
days of 1887. In March of that year he married 
her.” 

He cocked his eye at me over his papers, missing 
his pince-nez by a good two inches. I disgraced 
myself by laughing outright. “ Married ? ” I cried. 
‘‘That boy married.^ Why — it’s ridiculous.” 

Before either of us could say another word a most 
abominable hammering came from the outer hall 
and a moment later the door burst open and Major 
Padstow charged through it as though shot from 
a mortar. He was purple in the face and so breath- 
less that he could scarcely gasp out something 
about the compliments of the day and being the 
first to bring them to me. 

Dick Witham started to his feet, clutching at his 
precious papers. I really believe the man was 
frightened. Being better acquainted with the in- 
truder, I felt only angry. Before I could find 
appropriate words Padstow recovered his breath 
and thrust a small wooden keg into my arms. It 


24 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


was about the size of a child’s drum and thickly 
coated with mud, so that it ruined my white waist- 
coat for good and all. “ Musn’t mind the mud,” he 
gasped. “ Dropped it, taking the bullfinch by 
Church corpse.” 

I sometimes think that Charley Padstow’s boister- 
ousness would be annoying if it were not pathetic, 
just as his determined youthfulness — in a man just 
eight years my junior, mark you — would be pathetic 
if it were not ridiculous. Young or old, there he 
stood, slashing at his gaiters with his riding-crop 
and rolling his eyes about, until they happened to 
rest upon Dick Witham. And then I really thought 
they would spring out of his head. 

“ Witham,” he cried. “ In this house ! Perjury 
Witham — or the devil in his shape ! ” 


CHAPTER III 


I HAVE never known Charles Padstow to have less 
than three lawsuits on hand, and twice he has been 
before me on charges of aggravated assault. Dick 
Witham has frequently acted for his opponents, 
usually with success, whence, of course, the insulting 
epithet flung at his head beneath my roof. I had 
sufficient cause already to be annoyed ; this put the 
copestone to my anger. I dropped the keg upon 
the nearest chair, whence it rolled to the floor, 
carrying devastation with it — and slipped my arm 
through Dick’s, muddying it handsomely. “ Mr. 
Witham,” I said, “ is my oldest friend. And he has 
brought me this morning the best gift that ever man 
had.” 

The major’s eyes roved towards his keg, which, 
after stencilling a pathway across the white skin 
hearthrug, brought up against the fender. 

“ And anyone who insults him in my house,” I 
added, to command his attention, “ insults me.” 

“ Dick Witham — you are a trump,” he burst 
out, as if he had come on purpose to say so and 
could no longer restrain himself. “ The last trump 
in the hand. Get out, you beast. Get out, I tell 
you.” 

His last words, I was relieved to find, for there 
was no change in his voice, were addressed, not to 


26 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


Dick, but to old Trix. Having traitorously mumbled 
the Union Jack round her neck into a moist, squishy 
pulp, she had gone to sleep in her favourite position 
before the fireplace, her head lolling across the sharp 
curb of the fender and one paw dangling limp in 
the air above her. The coming of the keg had 
disturbed her and she was smelling at it distrustfully. 

The major retrieved it, not without a twinge, as I 
could see by the way he set his hand to his side, and 
offered it for my reacceptance. 

“ The mixture as before,” he said, while I was 
disposing of it on the edge of my desk. “ Caviare 
for the general.” 

He laughed very heartily at the time-honoured 
jest and I did my best to emulate him, though it was 
far from being the first time I had heard it. I 
thanked him warmly too, for although his gift 
enshrines a perennial apprehension, it is very kindly 
meant. Every year he procures, at considerable 
expense, I fear, a keg of caviare from some firm in 
Odessa and presents it to me on my brithday. As a 
matter of fact I dislike the stuff intensely, though I 
cannot very well say so. For many years, being 
under his very eye, I was forced to eat some of it at 
my birthday dinner, which thus became a penance. 
Poor Trix — who always sits beside my chair at meals, 
though she is far too well-bred to beg — in her heart 
dislikes the stuff as intensely as I do. By patient 
training however, aided, I think, by the great love 
the poor beast bears me, I have brought her to 
accept it from my hand, though she flies from it 
whimpering when offered in any other way, and 
thus, at the cost of some cruelty, I fear, I can now 
dispose of enough at a sitting to satisfy the donor. 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 27 


Any further confidences were clearly at an end, 
but I was very loath to part with Dick Witham, as I 
think he realised and appreciated. Although busi- 
ness called him away for the time, he promised in 
the end to return and take dinner with me, bringing 
with him, if possible, his wife and his eldest son, my 
godson. Thus, without any protestations, we both 
were happy to feel assured that our long estrange- 
ment was at an end. 

Scarcely had his devil-machine slipped through 
the gate, at a speed that made me dizzy, when 
Franklyn Bates arrived in the shabby chaise which 
it pleases him to drive and which is as significant a 
contrast to Charley’s fat cob as to Dick’s motor or 
Mrs. Hathorn’s — widow of my comrade. Colonel 
William Hathorn, of the old 87th — neat little 
brougham, which followed him a minute or two 
later. 

Of all my friends Franklyn Bates requires the 
most delicate management. Although he is one of 
the most prosperous stock-raisers in our part of 
Kent, he was at one time a gentlemen ranker in my 
old regiment and still insists upon his inferior rank 
with unnecessary punctilio. Scarcely had his feet 
touched the ground than he asked my permission, as 
senior officer present, to fall out, in order to pay his 
respects to Handasyde, whose husband was formerly 
his “ towny,” as he loves to put it ; he was, I think, 
instrumental in bringing them together in the first 
place. 

With Mrs. Hathorn was Frank Cottery, for 
whom she had called on the way. Father Greatrex 
walked in shortly afterwards, and our little party 
was complete. I was of course delighted to see 


28 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


each and all of them, but I really think my warmest 
greeting went out to old Lord Lottery, who, being 
stone deaf, perhaps heeded them least. He formerly 
held an important post in the Admirality, and in the 
exercise of his duty ventured too close to one of the 
big guns at, I think, Dover, which, he maintained, 
could not be discharged without bursting. In this 
he proved right enough, for at the very first dis- 
charge it burst both his ear-drums. We are all 
devoted to him, perhaps because he makes us feel 
so young — for he is really incredibly old. Mrs. 
Hathorn will have it that he is twenty years older 
than his own family, which was here before the 
Conquest. I fear that she, at least, chiefly welcomes 
his presence because he is the one living person who 
can suppress Charley Padstow. Although of little 
use to him, he carries an ear-trumpet — a long black 
tube, indescribably menacing in aspect. He finds 
a curious fascination in the Major, and watches the 
movement of his lips with unwinking attention. 
Whenever he sees them open wider than usual he 
feels for his trumpet and points it at them, looking 
round the side of his own eyes in his efforts to 
follow. Thereby he always reduces Padstow to 
instant silence. 

The salute was fired to the complete satisfaction 
of all concerned, and subsequently I received, as 
usual, the formal protest of Miss Erickson, the 
maiden lady who lives at Rose Cottage, and is thus 
my tenant. Annually she makes the damage to her 
nerves, consequent upon the salute, her pretext for 
refusing to pay the next quarter’s rent. As I know 
that her means are very straitened, I am happy to 
remit it, under solemn protest, and I only wish, for 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 29 


her sake, that I could have a birthday four times a 
year, though for my own they come round too 
quickly as it is. 

To show that her protest is of a public nature and 
implies no private animosity. Miss Erickson very 
kindly consents every year to drink a glass of my 
Comet port and to present me with a tract. The 
last bore, I remember, the title, “ The Days are 
Passing. Will you not accept this warning ? ” 
illustrated by a woodcut showing an old soldier, in 
full-dress uniform, presumably foreign, as it did not 
recall any English arm, reeling drunkenly out of a 
public-house door. 

Dear Dick Witham returned just in time for the 
meal, which we take at 1.30, out of regard for some 
of the elder among us. He brought with him his 
wife and his son, the latter perched perilously on 
the step. As he is a very loug young man, with 
a face even longer than his bod} , and affects a frock- 
coat that reaches almost to his ankles, the effect was 
remarkable. I was happy to know how heartily they 
were welcomed ; even by Franklyn Bates, who is at 
feud with the County Council on some matter 
connected with the foot-and-mouth disease. 

The dinner passed, as such commemorations will, 
amid a fire of reminiscences, of little interest to any 
but those who figure in them. In due course we 
came to the toasts, a survival, I am quite aware, 
anathema to modern ideas, but to which we still 
remain loyal. Our Gracious King, his beloved 
father, his revered grandmother, coupled with her 
good husband, for whom I had a special respect, 
although he did invent the most atrocious head-gear 
ever thrust upon a long-suffering army — all these 


30 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


were duly honoured, and I was already fingering the 
notes I had prepared in readiness for what was to 
follow, when to my surprise and in flat defiance to 
routine, Dick Witham rose suddenly to his feet. 

“ Before we come to the toast of the day,’’ he 
began, ‘‘ I have another to propose ; one which will 
surprise you all, and will, I am sure, please you — and 
no one more than our dear old friend in the Chair. 
I ask you all to charge your glasses — no heel-taps, 
mind you — and to drink to the youngest — I will not 
say the last — the youngest of the Fanhopes.” 

We stared expectantly at each other, scenting some 
obscure pleasantry. 

“ Come, I will put it in another way,” persisted 
Dick. “ I give you Miss Estelle Fanhope, May 
she prove worthy of her grandfather and of all the 
men who stormed the Alma heights.” 

Judging from our faces we were none of us much 
the wiser, but as Dick and his wife set us the 
example — my godson, who is, 1 am sorry to say, a 
temperance fanatic, honouring the toast in lukewarm 
coffee — we all did as we were bid. 

“ And now,” I was beginning, “ perhaps you will 
explain to us — ” 

But Charley Padstow must of course choose that 
moment to assert himself, bursting out, in an 
atrociously cracked voice : 

Fill up and pass : 

Drink to the lass. 

I warrant she’ll prove 

An excuse for a glass.” 

He had opened his lips too wide. The eager ear- 
trumpet cut in between him and his voice, and the 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 31 


song faded into a whine. Mrs. Hathorn, who was 
sitting next to Cottery, suddenly bent down and 
kissed him, looking sternly at the major as she did so. 

“ Tell me, my dear Dick,” I stammered, quite 
knocked off my feet, “ have I really — a grand- 
daughter ? ” 

Dick nodded emphatically across the table, but 
before he could speak Mrs. Hathorn interposed to 
say, as always, the right thing. 

“ I don’t know about the rest of you good people,” 
she began — and I could see that she was tearing up 
in her lap the notes she had prepared from which to 
answer for “ the ladies.” “ I want my forty winks. 
If Mr. Witham chooses to make mysterious 
announcements, I am not going to let them do me 
out of my afternoon snooze. 1 have always had it — 
and I always will. I don’t know what he means 
— and I don’t suppose any one else does either. 
Ned and he will have a good deal to say to each 
other ; and I want to be ready for the school- 
children when they come. And until then I don’t 
care a bunch of carnations — as poor William used to 
say — for all the lawyers between here and — and 
Helsingfors.” 

“ But — but ” I was beginning. “ I want you 

all to hear ” 

“ Sle-ope hipe,” rattled out my godson suddenly, 
in a ridiculously piping voice. He has a com- 
mission in the Territorials, and was, for the moment, 
I have no doubt, acting under orders. “ The 
company will advance. By the left. Left wheel. 
Double.” And before I could say a word they had 
all vanished, Frank Cottery, who was quite at sea, 
dragged along between the two ladies. 


32 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


“I — I haven’t got a grand-daughter,” 1 said feebly, 
when Dick and I were alone together. 

“ You have had one for years,” he retorted. “ If 
you will lead the way to your den, and let Mrs. 
Handasyde clear away, 1 will tell you all about 
her.” 


CHAPTER IV 


When we re-entered the library my birthday presents 
were, as usual, awaiting me on a table in the centre 
of the room. The almanac from Mrs. Hathorn, the 
music-score (“ La Sonnambula,” by Bellini) from 
Lord Lottery, and the setting of eggs (in a flannel- 
lined basket) from Franklyn Bates, held the place 
of honour in the centre. They were flanked by 
Father Greatrex’s bezique-set and our Rector’s 
bound volume of Tariff Reform pamphlets— this 
latter an innovation. Padstow’s keg was missing, 
being not yet removed from the dinner-table ; 
Handasyde’s pen-wiper, bound in red, white, and 
blue ; Skase’s woollen comforter, knitted by his wife 
in a bright shade of magenta, and the maids’ offering, 
another pen-wiper, in the form of a velvet horse- 
shoe, were important items in the display, of eighteen 
presents in all, two of them novelties. 

“ Your grand-daughter is in America,” began 
Witham, when, having sacrificed before the shrine 
of friendship, we settled ourselves into our 
chairs. 

“ The devil she is,” I replied. “ And what is she 
doing in America ^ ” 

“ When last heard of she was taking down letters 
in shorthand,” said Dick drily. “ But you had 
better let me begin at the beginning. Let me see ; 


34 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


I have already told you of Dicky’s marriage — in 
March 1887. His daughter Estelle was born in the 
January following, the 13th, to be exact.” 

“ An unlucky day,” 1 murmured, rather to conceal 
the blankness of my mind than from any super- 
stitious reason. 

“ With his wife and child he accompanied his 
father-in-law to his mission-station on the Amberno 
River in Dutch New Guinea. Six months later the 
entire party of whites, nine in all, were massacred 
by the natives. Only the infant escaped, through 
the devotion of her nurse, an Indian woman.” 

“ God’s will be done,” I said. “ At least he died 
like a man } ” 

“ Like a brave man. But you shall read the 
details yourself, here, in this paper. It is a sworn 
translation of the report by the local Dutch authori- 
ties concerning the massacre, and contains the narra- 
tive of the nurse.” 

“ And the child ? ” 

‘‘ Was adopted by an American, a ship-captain 
named Osgood, who may or may not have been 
some relative of the mother. He took her with him 
on his return to the United States and put her in 
charge of his wife, then resident in the town of 
Hartford, Connecticut. He died at sea in 1 907, after 
which the widow removed to Probityville, a town 
or village in Long Island, State of New York. 
There she also died, in November 1909.” 

His dry, copybook tone was beginning to get on 
my nerves. “ How do you know all this ^ What 
proof have you ? ” 

He carefully re-tied his dossier before he answered. 
‘‘ My dear Ned,” he said, in his own sympathetic 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 35 


voice, “ some seventy years ago we decided that, 
as we had no brothers by blood, we would adopt 
each other. We even performed, as you -may re- 
member, some fantastic ceremony, borrowed from 
our notion of Red Indian ” 

“ We scratched our arms and held them together, 
so that the blood should mingle. I remember that 
it stung unpleasantly.” 

“ Our wrists, to be exact. And we bound them 
together with a very dirty handkerchief — one of 
yours — with a blue border.” 

It was a green silk scarf and not a handkerchief 
at all, but I did not care to correct him just 
then. 

“ After poor Dicky’s disappearance ” He 

hesitated. 

“ Let us forget all that,” I reassured him. “ I 
was as much to blame as you.” 

He looked, I thought, surprised, as though he had 
expected me to say something else. 

“ I have always felt that the evidence was not 
conclusive — and made several tentative attempts to 
obtain more satisfactory proof, though without 
success. Five years ago young Brakespeare, the 
doctor’s son, who was articled to me for a time, 
took it into his head to emigrate to a place called 
Wenatchee, in the State of Washington, not very 
far, as distances go there, from Portland. I asked 
him, if he should ever visit that city, to make such 
inquiries as should be possible, after such a length 
of time. In October last I heard from him — you 
will find his letter here ; and what he told me 
decided me to put the matter into the hands of 
Balderton’s, the famous detective agents of New 


36 HUNT THE SLIPPER 

York. On Monday I received their final report. 
It is here.’’ 

He rose and put the papers into my hand. ‘‘ You 
would like to look at them now. I will leave 
you for a bit.” He passed out through the 
French window and crossed the lawn towards the 
orchard. 

I remember little of the afternoon’s proceedings, 
though I am told that they were entirely successful, 
and that I played my part without any noticeable 
lapses. For the first time in my remembrance, I 
must confess, I was glad when the end came and the 
last outburst of shrill childish cheers faded across 
the hedgerows. Nor, I fear, was I sorry when my 
older guests, led by Mrs. Hathorn, broke into a 
suspicious unanimity of yawns and professed them- 
selves utterly worn out and dying for their beds, 
although it was not yet six of the evening. Before 
the clock struck that hour 1 had locked myself into 
the library and was again examining my dossier, 
with what eagerness you may imagine. 

As I am enclosing the originals in the same 
writing-portfolio with these notes, for my grand- 
daughter to read at her leisure, I need not enumerate 
them. I have arranged and marked them in order, 
and I have little doubt that, should I from any 
cause be prevented from making her personally 
welcome to her father’s home, they will remove 
any doubts she may feel as to his origins and 
family. I have added to them a few notices con- 
cerning the Fanhope family and its present unworthy 
representative, culled from books of reference and 
elsewhere, which will, I have no doubt, also prove 
interesting to her. I may remark that the signet- 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 37 


ring reported to be now in her possession and 
bearing the engraved crest “a half sea-horse with 
feet ” (an obvious error made by one ignorant 
of heraldry for a demi-wyvern) supporting a royal 
crown with a motto beneath it, corresponds to one 
formerly in the possession of my son. The motto 
should read “ A Azincour ” ; the crest has been that 
of the Fanhopes since the battle which it com- 
memorates, in which its then representative dis- 
tinguished himself. 

The last of the documents, extracts from a letter 
to Mr. Witham from my son, dated the day before 
he sailed from Liverpool, I have not enclosed with 
the rest, having destroyed it. It filled me at the 
time with grave uneasiness. Two points about it 
struck me very forcibly. Why had Witham never 
before referred to it ? He must have received it 
within twenty-four hours of our first disagreement, 
when he tacitly refused to accept my assurance that 
I had empowered Dicky to draw £200 out of my 
bank on the day of his departure, although the 
signature on the cheque was not actually mine. 
The suppression was the more mysterious that the 
letter contained references which might have seemed 
to bear out his contention. Why did he now include 
only selected extracts, instead of the original The 
extracts certainly cleared up some obscurities ; 
Dicky’s intention to live under an assumed name 
and not to communicate with us further until he 
had redeemed his character and so forth, but the 
very fact of the omissions suggested that the 
original had contained something else, something 
that even now Witham did not wish me to 
learn. 


38 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


It was not yet too late to see him and thus to 
avoid another disturbed night. Half an hour later 
I stopped before his door in the High Street, very 
glad to be there, for the evening was damp and 
chilly and 1 had chosen the dog-cart instead of the 
brougham as being the speedier. 

He was on the point of sitting down to dinner, 
but realising my state of mind, excused himself to 
his family and led me at once into his study. A 
slight contretemps awaited us there, which had 
unfortunate results. It was in itself no more than 
an attack made by a Persian cat, his privileged pet, 
upon old Trix, who had accompanied me, and 
entailed no injury to either combatant. It ruffled 
Witham out of his habitual composure, however, 
and to no other cause could I attribute his obstinacy 
when I explained my errand. Not only did he 
refuse me the original letter ; he even intimated that 
it was none of my business. I kept my temper 
admirably, while insisting upon my right to see it. 
He, on the other hand, showed entire lack of self- 
control, dropping his voice to its most exasperating 
sneer and meeting my every argument with a flat 
refusal. 

Mere senseless obstinacy I can afford to laugh at, 
but I began to suspect some method in his madness. 
Witham’s new-found admiration for my son seemed 
rather a sudden conversion. Possibly the suppressed 
paragraphs of the letter contained some proof of his 
previous unfairness. I knew how keenly he disliked 
to be shown in the wrong, even in small things. 
Had I been cooler, I hope I should have been more 
generous ; in my then frame of mind it seemed the 
likeliest explanation. 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 39 


“ 1 insist — I insist absolutely upon seeing that 
letter,” I told him at last. 

“ And 1 refuse — as absolutely — to produce it.” 

“ I order you to do so.” From what followed it 
seems that I must have raised my voice a little. 

“ We are not in court now, or at school,” he 
sneered. 

“ You at least need to be taught a lesson,” I 
retorted, rather happily, 1 thought. “ Have that 
letter I will, if I have to take it by force. If you 
imagine that I shall sit quietly by while you suppress 
the proof of how shamefully you have misjudged 
my son you are very much mistaken.” 

I had certainly struck home ; he actually quailed 
before me. Before any more could be said the 
door behind him opened noiselessly and his wife 
came in. 

I have made it a rule through life never to dis- 
agree with a woman who has a high Roman nose. 
My own Estelle, whose temper was admirable, had 
a purely Grecian profile, and she quite agreed with 
me that a Roman nose means a masterful temper. 
Mrs. Witham’s, though well shaped, is large and 
distinctly Roman. As it preceded her into the 
room I felt that trouble was only beginning. 

“ I overheard what you were saying,” she said, 
as though eavesdropping were an accepted virtue. 
“ I have come to give you your letter.” 

She walked past me to Witham’s desk, ignoring 
his remonstrances, and from one of the drawers 
took out a small deed-box. From this she took 
several papers, and, selecting one, handed it to me. 

“ My dear,” protested her husband, “ you know 
that we agreed ” 


40 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


“ I did not agree to sacrifice your happiness to 
ignorant prejudice, wherever it occurs,” she said, 
quite coolly, but breathing hard. “ And now we 
will leave the General to read it by himself.” As 
she spoke she took his arm and propelled him out 
of the room, closing the door behind her. Before 
I had found time to glance at the letter, she 
returned, carrying a tray, upon which was a decanter 
of brandy, a siphon, and a glass. She set it down 
upon a small table by the sofa-head, switched on 
a reading-lamp beside it, and withdrew without 
speaking. 

I had not read three lines before my hand began 
to shake so that I could scarcely see the paper. It 
was a terrible, despairing letter ; there was worse 
than despair in it. To what I knew already was 
added an appeal for mercy for another wrong, of 
which I had known nothing. My poor boy had 
changed, he said, the figure on a cheque his god- 
father had given him to pay some small debt or 
other. From five he had altered it to fifty pounds, 
and had cashed it through some London tradesman, 
with whom he had an account, the very day he 
left home. In the letter he begged Witham to 
honour the cheque lest he be arrested and punished. 
It was a dreadful letter for his father to read ; my 
only consolation, and that poor enough, was that 
he must have been out of his right mind. 

I must have been stuhned by the shame of it and 
of my own black ingratitude towards my friend, for 
when at last dear Dick came softly in I was still 
sitting there fingering the letter, with poor old Trix 
licking my hand to comfort me, though I had been 
alone for more than an hour. 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 41 


What passed between us then it would be blas- 
phemy to repeat. One thing only I will relate, for 
it shows yet more fully the stuff my friend is made 
of. He flatly denied that there was any truth in 
Dicky’s self-accusation. He assured me, and 
brought in his wife to assure me, that the cheque 
had never been altered. My son might have 
intended it, they said ; if so, his heart had failed 
him. When presented the cheque was for five 
pounds only. This they insisted again and again, 
with tears in their eyes. 

“ You have kept it, of course, with the letter ^ ” I 
asked, knowing how methodical he is in the smallest 
details. He had not, he stammered ; he only 
wished that he had. It had been destroyed, with 
an accumulation of old papers, five years back. 
He had not put enough weight upon the incident 
to think of preserving it. 

“ At least you will give me your word that what 
you tell me is true ? ” 

He hesitated for only the barest fraction of a 
second, but it told me all the truth. He flashed a 
question to his wife— I saw it, though he thought 
his face was hidden from me — and I saw the tiny 
nod she gave him in reply. 

“ I give you my word of honour, old friend,” he 
said, very steadily, that the facts are as I have 
said.” And his wife repeated the words after him. 

I knew that they swore 'falsely, and why, and 
what it cost them. And I loved them for it, and 
it helped me. I felt that their sacrifice must not 
seem in vain. 

Then I have been worrying myself about 
nothing,” I said, with a dismal attempt at a laugh. 


42 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


“ And we need not think any more about it. That 
leaves the way open for what I really came to tell 
you. I am starting to-morrow, or as soon as there 
is a boat, for America.” 


CHAPTER V 


My suggested journey had been, in the first place, 
no more than a red herring drawn across the trail 
of Dick Witham’s thoughts. But the more I 
thought of it — and I slept little — the more it grew 
upon me. I need not recount the various mental 
steps which finally led to my decision, affecting 
severally myself, the memory of my dear son, and 
the duty I owed to his child. It is enough that I 
did not act upon impulse and that before daybreak 
my mind was made up. Not only would I make 
the journey ; I would start at once. 

I foresaw many difficulties, chief among them the 
certain opposition of my friends. I must give them 
no time to concentrate ; surprise is the first essential 
to attack. I regretted that I had ever mentioned 
America to Witham. 

When Handasyde brought me my early cup of 
tea, she was amazed to find me already up and busy, 
packing a portmanteay. It was above all things 
necessary to keep her in ignorance. Once startled 
out of the habit of discipline, she was exactly the 
sort of woman to lock me up in my bedroom, willy- 
nilly, while she sent for the medical man. I told 
her only that I was forced to run up to town on a 
matter of business and that I should be away from 
home for a few days. My address would be 
Morley’s Hotel, Trafalgar Square, whence any 


44 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


letters would be forwarded to me. I was thankful 
to find that she swallowed the bait, if not un- 
suspectingly, at least without comment. 

I found a good train from Ashurst at 4*27, and 
as a way of crossing the Rubicon, ordered the dog- 
cart for two, thus allowing myself time to transact 
various small pieces of business in the town. 
Everything progressed so favourably that I began 
to fear the Eumenides. Witham did not call ; 
Handasyde worked with her customary willingness, 
completing my packing very much better than I 
had begun it. I took the precaution of sending my 
luggage down before me, lest any of my friends 
should see me on the way to the station. 

So successfully had I lulled Handasyde’s sus- 
picions that she was not even surprised when I told 
her to polish my old service revolver and pack it 
in the portmanteau, a precaution I thought necessary, 
having heard strange reports about the prevalent 
lawlessness of America. 

I had left myself plenty of time for a last turn 
round the gardens and paddocks, to visit my 
favourite flower-beds and to say good-bye to the 
old African tortoise who lives in the corner beside 
the stables, and who, I am bound to say, showed 
little sensibility at parting. Trix, on the other 
hand, was unaccountably uneasy all the morning, 
following me like my shadow, dribbling over my 
boots with more than usual tenderness, and some- 
times whimpering below her breath. 

Squirrels stands high, on a knoll some quarter of 
a mile from the high road, from which it is divided 
by a deep depression or dell. Formerly a farm- 
house much favoured by the Romney Marsh 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 45 


smugglers, it is peculiarly isolated, the lane by 
which it is approached being actually, though not 
nominally, a private road, and the only houses 
within half a mile. Rose Cottage at the corner, and 
Annington Farm, in the occupation of my neighbour 
Cronk. I never quite knew my affection for the 
old place that has been my home for thirty years 
until 1 turned to look at it for the last time as the 
dog-cart topped the hill that would shut it from my 
sight. The day was very still, so that the smoke 
from Handasyde’s wash-house rose straight into the 
air ; the sunlight positively shimmered on the 
yellow-washed walls and turned the old three- 
decker on the bell-turret into a golden argosy. 
Handasyde was standing in the drive, waving her 
hand ; the old dog in the middle of the road half- 
way between us, was raising her jowl skywards in 
protest against being left behind. It is a little 
picture 1 shall have with me wherever Fortune may 
carry my old bones — or leave them. 

I flicked up old Naples — so-called because he is 
the best-looking bay I ever owned — but I had been 
wise to mistrust the fates. As I was about to turn 
into the high-road, suddenly, without any warning, 
as I am ready to swear, a grim, flat-headed grey 
motor-beast swung round the corner, coming from 
the direction of Ashurst, at a perfectly scandalous 
speed. It passed within an inch of Naples’ nose, 
skidded into Miss Erickson’s boundary-hedge, and 
there came to a stop with a suddenness that I hope 
disarranged its vitals. 

“ Where do you think you are driving to, you 
treble-distilled essence of idiocy ? ” came a voice I 
knew very well. 


46 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


Although old Naples would trot down the crater 
of a volcano without flicking an ear if he knew that 
I was driving him, this outrage startled even him 
out of his manners, so that for the time 1 could 
spare only a few commonplace curses for the head 
of the motorist. By the time 1 had soothed him, 
Dick Witham was standing in the roadway, patting 
the horse’s neck. “ It’s all right,” he said, with a 
hypocritical air of forgiveness ; “ only you really 
oughtn’t to cut round corners at such a pace. 
Might have been a horrid smash.” 

Under other circumstances I should have told 
him what I thought about it pretty freely. But I 
had no desire for a wrangle. I only said I was 
sorry he had not broken his neck and that I was 
pressed for time, motioning him to stand out of 
the way. 

“ But I want to see you,” he protested, with a 
hand on the rein. “ I have come on purpose.” 

Knowing his obstinacy, I gave myself up for lost. 
Just in time some good angel sent Miss Erickson 
out of her gate, furious at the damage done to her 
hedge. Dick could not very well ignore her, and I 
thus got the opportunity to whip up Naples — an 
unprecedented indignity which he resented by nearly 
overturning the cart — and to make off down the 
high-road at full speed. 

I had the prescience to turn into a by-road, to 
avoid the possibility of pursuit — and was able to 
congratulate myself on reaching Ashurst undetected. 
But I reckoned without my host— of friends — as 
you shall hear. 

I drew what money I needed from the bank, paid 
the few outstanding tradesmen’s accounts, spent a 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 47 


few quiet minutes in the Parish Church, where my 
dear wife lies buried, and so came at last to the 
railway station. 

The first person my eye fell on, as I reached the 
platform, was Dick Witham. The second was Mrs. 
Hathorn. The third — in a word they were all 
there awaiting me, carrying light articles of luggage. 
Bates in particular a bulging old rawhide gladstone 
that would have disgraced a casual ward. 

“ We know all about it,” said Dick Witham, 
ignoring my surprise. “ Handasyde — and brains — 
and work it out for yourself, oh, most cunning of 
conspirators ! And do remember, in future, that a 
motor can go twenty times as fast as the best cob 
that ever was bred. Yes, yes, of course — I’ve got 
the tickets — to Charing Cross. We can all settle 
up in the train. Now, does any one want any 
papers ? Don’t worry about your luggage. General ; 
I will see that it is all put in the same van.” He 
bustled about the platform, doing nothing with 
stupendous energy, and to all my questions he 
vouchsafed only such banalities as “ Glorious weather 
for travelling,” or “ Going to see if I can reserve a 
carriage,” flung over his shoulder as he raced from 
one end of the platform to the other. 

His fellow-conspirators were equally elusive, and, 
save that Witham, seeing me in the act of flight, 
had consulted Handasyde and, thanks to his infernal 
motor, sent round the fiery cross with a celerity 
quite unexampled, I was left to work out for myself 
the prelude to our journey. 

I recognised, of course, that the remonstrances I 
had thought to avoid would open upon me either in 
the train or after our arrival in town. I was not 


48 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


mistaken. Scarcely had the guard waved his flag 
when the storm broke over my devoted head, and 
I really believe we might have ended up with a 
bout of fisticuffs, had not Mrs. Hathorn, with 
glorious inconstancy, veered unexpectedly to my 
side shortly after passing Sevenoaks. 

“ After all, he is not a child,” she declared, 
without any warning, during a truce for lack of 
breath. “ If he has made up his mind there is 
no more to be said.” 

In this she was wrong, for there was a great deal 
more to be said, though her desertion was the 
beginning of the end. Frank Cottery, always her 
obedient satellite, heartily endorsed her changed 
allegiance, when some glimmer of it reached him. 
Franklyn Bates compared me, unflatteringly, to 
pedigree stock, which crosses the Atlantic without 
coming to harm ; Padstow was silenced by Mrs. 
Hathorn’s masterly management of the ear-trumpet, 
and Dick Witham, left alone, bowed, under protest, 
to the sense of the majority. 

Once enlisted in my cause, my late assailants 
became indefatigable — if undisciplined — allies. The 
following day I passed almost entirely in my 
pleasant little sitting-room, overlooking Trafalgar 
Square, while the friendly horde took London by 
storm. As they proudly boasted, everything was 
done in record time ; owing to some lack of co- 
hesion it was done several times over. Before 
mid-day on the Friday I was possessed of two 
distinct passage-vouchers to New York and of one 
to Boston, of three guide-bgoks to North America, 
all of the same edition, and of one ‘ History of the 
United States,’ of two deck-chairs, two steamer- 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 49 


rugs, three Thermos flasks, and four bottles of three 
separate specifics against sea-sickness. American 
money positively showered upon me, dear Frank 
Cottery adding supplies of the currencies of Canada 
and Mexico, in case, as he said, of accidents. The 
disputes over the apportionment of blame and the 
steps necessary to rectify matters rose at times 
to such a pitch that I seriously feared the hotel- 
management might eject us as disorderly characters. 
In the end the bulk of the work fell to Dick 
Witham’s share — as might have been expected. 

Indefatigable to the last, the whole party went 
down with me to Southampton. As Mrs. Hathorn 
and Mrs. Witham, who came up to town for the 
purpose, were good enough to provide me with a 
supply of very beautiful flowers, we attracted more 
than desirable attention at Waterloo. In conse- 
quence we nearly lost Charley Padstow, who stayed 
to rebuke an impertinent fellow for audibly refer- 
ring to us as an ‘ old-age pensioners’ beanfeast,* and 
only rejoined us at the last moment. 

Only just before leaving the train did I discover 
that I was travelling under a false name. When 
taking my passage — the fourth — Dick Witham 
booked it in the name of Moresby. His reason 
was thoughtful enough — to safeguard me against 
the American newspaper reporters, who are, he 
gave me to understand, quite unscrupulous in their 
persecution of travellers of any note. I must 
confess though, that I would have preferred it 
otherwise. 

Dick’s protecting arm had reached across the 
Atlantic. Not only had he provided for my com- 
fort on board, he had arranged for a room to be 

4 


50 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


reserved for me at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in 
New York, and in the train he handed me a note- 
book in which he had set down all the details he 
had been able to discover about Probityville, my 
grand-daughter’s place of residence, and the best 
means of reaching it. On the front page he had 
written, in large letters and red ink : “ Special and 
Urgent. Never enter -a taxi-cab in New York 
under any circumstances. 1 am informed that they 
are the veriest swindles ” — the last three words 
heavily underscored. 

My last vision of my kind old friends was from 
the promenade deck of the Arctic^ when the gang- 
way had been already removed and the great vessel 
was slowly moving from the quayside. I fear I 
made a rather conspicuous figure, for I had a huge 
bunch of flowers under either arm ; but I remained 
at my post until I could no longer see even the 
gleam of the handkerchiefs they waved to me — until 
the seven dark figures ranged along the side of the 
dock had faded into the haze of distance. I wonder 
if I shall ever see them again ! 


CHAPTER VI 

It is thirty years since I last trod the decks of an 
ocean-liner, and, truth to tell, I do not find the new 
order of things altogether to my liking. I may be 
old-fashioned, but I should prefer, on shipboard, 
some faint suggestion of being at sea. Good 
dinners, well served, by all means ; but not, if you 
please, winter-gardens and passenger-lifts. 

I have found it more difficult than I expected to 
adapt myself to the change from my usual routine. 
I was at first very lonely, and tormented by doubts 
as to the wisdom of undertaking such a journey at 
my time of life. The great size of the vessel does 
not prevent her rolling heavily at times, so that, for 
the first two days of the voyage, not all my bottles 
of anti-sea-sickness specifics could prevail against it. 
Afterwards, the presence of so many strange faces 
all around me filled me with a sense of bewilder- 
ment. I fear that my reception of many little acts 
of courtesy and kindness may have seemed reserved 
almost to the point of rudeness. 

Upon the Monday morning, my first day free 
from nausea, I made the acquaintance of a gentle- 
man — the son, as it proved, of an old acquaintance, 
and himself destined to prove a friend indeed. We 
were passing a small sailing-vessel, a very cockle- 
shell among the waves, seen from our tall decks. 


52 


I HUNT THE SLIPPER 


“ Just how Columbus must have looked to the 
angels,” said a pleasant voice beside me. 

I replied with some suitable banality, and turned 
to find a tall man standing at my side, also watching 
the sailing-ship. He was very handsomely dressed, 
with perhaps more jewellery than I should care to 
wear, but with a kindly firmness of expression that 
quite took away any suggestion of vulgarity. His 
chin was almost square, the mouth shaded by a dark 
moustache, the eyes grey and piercing. Altogether 
a very presentable man, who would have attracted 
attention in any company. 

‘‘ You must let me make you comfortable,” he 
said, as we moved towards my deck-chair. “ I am 
an old campaigner and know the ropes.” 

A soldier ^ ” I asked him, naturally interested. 

“ Ought to have been,” he answered with a faint 
tinge of embarrassment. “ My father was an Army 
man.” 

All this time he was making admirable provision 
for me, finding a sheltered nook for my deck-chair, 
arranging it at the most comfortable angle, wrapping 
my steamer-rug around me so that it could not 
become unloosened, and fetching me with his own 
hands a cup of bouillon, the deck-steward having 
overlooked me. 

“No need to ask if you have seen service,” he 
said in an interval. It was fortunate that he chose 
that moment for going after the deck-steward, or I 
should certainly have betrayed myself. I was 
grateful that when he returned he did not press for 
an answer. 

“ My name is Dayrell,” he said, when, having 
seated me as it were in the lap of luxury, he was 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 53 


about to leave me. “James Peyton Dayrell. If at 
any time I can be of any use to you, I hope you 
will remember it.” 

“ Peyton Dayrell,” I exclaimed. “ That is a 
name I know very well indeed. Is it possible that 
you are related to a very old acquaintance of mine. 
Colonel Dayrell, of Glastonwell, formerly of the 
H.E.I.C.S. ? ” 

Again I thought he looked a shade embarrassed. 

“ He was my father,” he answered. 

“ I am delighted to meet his son,” I told him, 
with a little thrill of enthusiasm and holding out my 
hand, which he shook warmly. “ And do you still 
live at Glastonwell ? ” I asked him, for the sake of 
saying something. “ I visited your father there 
once, many years ago, before you were thought ot, 
I expect. A very beautiful place, in very beautiful 
country.” 

“ It has been sold for some time,” he told me 
awkwardly, and with some excuse left me. I 
remembered then that I had heard vague rumours 
about Colonel Dayrell’s son — that he had run more 
or less wild after his father’s death ; that there had 
been some scandal about cards, I think, and that the 
property had been sold, after being in the family for 
five centuries. 

I blamed myself for my awkwardness, and finding 
that Mr. Dayrell was placed opposite me at the 
luncheon table and that there was a vacant space 
beside me, I suggested that he should take it. He 
did so gladly as I thought, and has remained my 
table-neighbour throughout the voyage. A most 
entertaining companion he has proved, for he seems 
to have been everywhere and to have seen every- 


54 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


thing. He resided for many years in the Western 
United States, first as a rancher, or stock raiser, and 
latterly as a prospector in the Yukon gold districts, 
where, 1 was glad to hear, he has been very suc- 
cessful. He was again on his way thither, after 
having successfully floated a company in Paris, with 
such good results that he had hopes of being able to 
repurchase his family estates. His long residence 
abroad explained a certain lack, I will not say of 
breeding, but of that manner and intonation by 
which we recognise the public-school boy. He 
assured me later that upon his first return to 
England he felt as awkward and out-of-place in a 
drawing-room as might his own groom. 

Mr. Dayrell, though certainly the most long- 
suffering, was by no means alone among my fellow- 
passengers in extending towards me courtesy and 
kindness. Mr. Edward Hertzenstein, a wealthy 
American gentleman, and his wife, as well as their 
daughter Miss Elvira — one of the most beautiful 
young women it has ever been my good-fortune to 
gaze upon — were especially obliging, even to the 
length of inviting me to visit them at their country 
residence in Melrose, Long Island. I single them 
out, because through no fault of theirs, I became 
through them involved in the one unpleasant 
incident that has marred the voyage. Among the 
men of our company was a Mr. Talboys, a younger 
son of that Lord Talboys whose financial adventures 
caused so much scandal and ruined so many 
innocent people. I mention this, not as in any 
sense derogatory to the young man, who can only 
have been a child at the time, but because it more 
particularly drew my attention to him. He struck 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 55 


me as being a pleasant young fellow enough, of the 
slim, elegant type, well-mannered, and not, I 
imagine, overburdened with brains. 1 should no 
doubt have regarded him with an unprejudiced eye 
until the end of our short acquaintance, but for a 
gross piece of officiousness on his part. 

On the Tuesday evening I had a long talk on 
deck with Mr. Dayrell, concerning, I remember, 
the advantages of a monarchical form of govern- 
ment, as to which we were entirely agreed. It was 
a pleasant evening, the warmest we had so far 
experienced, and after Mr. Dayrell left me to dress 
I remained lying in my deck-chair, enjoying the 
fresh air and awaiting the familiar “ Come to the 
cook-shop ” call on the ship’s bugle. I had noticed, 
while talking to Mr. Dayrell, that young Talboys 
was hovering to and fro at the other end of the 
promenade deck, occasionally passing us and going 
forward, but always returning to the same spot. I 
paid little attention, thinking, if I thought about it 
at all, that he was waiting for Miss Hertzenstein, 
with whom he was conducting a desperate flirtation 
— for which I certainly cannot blame him as, were 1 
half a century younger, I might have been inclined 
to emulate him. It was in fact through her that 
I first made his acquaintance. Scarcely had Mr. 
Dayrell left me than he came towards me and sat 
down, rather awkwardly, upon the next chair to 
mine, to which, by the way, he had no sort of right. 

“ Mr. Moresby,” he began, hesitatingly, “ there 
is something I think I ought to say to you.” 

I told him that I was entirely at his service, but 
that he had better be quick, as dinner would shortly 
be served. 


56 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


He hummed and ha-ed for a time, but at last 
burst out suddenly, “ It’s about Dayrell.” 

I was considerably astonished. “ Really,” 1 
answered dryly ; ‘‘ and what about Mr. Dayrell ? ” 

“ He is — don’t you know what he is ? ” 

“ Except that he is the son of an old friend of 
mine, I know little of his private affairs.” 

“ His family is all right, I daresay,” said the 
young man unwillingly. “ That doesn’t matter one 
way or the other. It’s oh ! it is a beastly thing to 
say — last thing I should have thought of doing 
myself — but ” 

“ I am waiting.” I was extremely annoyed, and 
I may have shown it in my voice. 

“ Well ; the fact is, he has been rather palling on 
to you, you know.” 

“ If you mean that he has been extremely kind 
to me, I quite agree. If that exposes him to ” 

“ No, no — of course not. You don’t understand 
what I mean — and — oh Lord, it is so beastly 
difficult to explain, but people are saying ” 

The first notes of the bugle sang out on the deck 
below us, very much to my relief. It had the 
effect of still more discomposing him. “ There’s 
no time now to explain what I mean. Only — it’s 
like this ” 

I half rose in my chair. He leaped to his feet as 
though I had feinted at him with a knife. ‘‘ I only 
want to say that you will be wiser not to play cards 
with him or have any money dealings with him at 
all. That’s all.” 

He hurried off along the deck like a scared 
rabbit, leaving me divided between astonishment 
and indignation. 


SIR EDWARD S NARRATIVE 57 


Much against my will, I felt it my duty to 
mention the matter to Mr. Dayrell at the first 
opportunity, leaving it to him to act as he thought 
fit. He treated it very lightly. He attributed it 
to ill-humour resulting from, what was currently 
reported to have taken place, Mr. Hertzenstein’s 
emphatic refusal of the young man’s offer for his 
daughter’s hand. Although this was only to be 
expected in view of his father’s history, his own 
notorious penury, and the fact that his brother, the 
heir to the title, after a dissipated career, married 
beneath him and finally disappeared, so that it was 
not known whether he was alive or dead, Talboys 
had taken it much to heart. As Mr. Dayrell had 
himself paid Miss Elvira some slight attentions he 
could only suppose that the young man regarded 
him as a rival, which would explain, if it did 
not excuse, his behaviour. The kindly way in 
which he spoke of the young man, pitying, rather 
than blaming him, only confirmed my high opinion 
of Mr. Dayrell’s qualities. 

It was during the night following that my old 
body broke out in mutiny. I was later than usual 
in retiring, having assisted at an entertainment 
organised by the passengers in the cause of charity. 
On reaching my cabin 1 was suddenly aware of an 
intense constriction in my left side, and must then 
have fainted, for on recovering my senses 1 found 
myself on the floor, bleeding from a wound in the 
head, which I had struck against the edge of the 
berth in falling. I staunched the flow of blood and 
rang for the steward, but before he came 1 again 
lost consciousness. The ship’s doctor patched me 
up and put me comfortably to bed, and Mr. 


58 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


Dayrell, hearing of the accident, most kindly spent 
much of the night by my bedside. I cannot indeed 
speak too highly of what he has done for me in that 
and other ways. 

Under medical advice I have decided to keep 
my bed for the rest of the voyage, that I may be 
perfectly myself on landing. As the time hangs 
heavy on my hands Mr. Dayrell, with the aid of a 
couple of walking-sticks, a dispatch-box, and some 
strong twine, has arranged a bed-desk for me, that 
I may occupy my enforced leisure in writing. 1 
have already made some little progress in setting 
down the events of the past week, that, should any- 
thing happen to prevent my meeting my grandchild, 
I may at least speak to her thus vicariously. When 
completed, 1 shall enclose this narrative in my 
leather writing portfolio, along with Mr. Witham’s 
documents and a small present, which I hope she 
will honour me by accepting as a long-delayed 
birthday gift. Upon receiving it, she should at 
once communicate with Richard Elwes Withams 
Esq., c/o Messrs. Witham, Heatherley and 
Withams, High Street, Ashurst, Kent, who will, 
I am sure, act for her as kindly and efficiently as 
for myself. 

My grand-daughter’s address is. Miss Estelle 
Seaton, The Linworth Building, Broadway, New 
York, and I would ask anyone into whose hands 
this may fall to direct it to her there. 

I set down these few directions as they occur to 
me, having just heard that land had been sighted 
and that we may expect to reach port either late this 
evening or more probably, as the weather is foggy, 
to-morrow morning. Let me add, before I forget it 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 59 


that my indisposition has been rendered very much 
easier to bear by the attentions which have been 
showered upon me, by passengers and officers alike. 
The Hertzenstein family, the Prince zu Ehrenfeldt, 
Madame Concavelli, young Mr. Talboys, of whom I 
have modified my unfavourable 


PART II 

PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 
CHAPTER VII 

I don’t suppose there ever was a finer figure of a 
gentleman than old Sir Edward Fanhope — Mr. 
Moresby, as I first thought he was. I ought to 
know, because, for professional reasons, I have been 
studying the breed ever since I was able to study 
anything. 

I first began to figure about it when I was seven. 
I remember exactly, because that year my birthday 
was the same as the Michaelmas hiring fair in 
Newbury, and I walked in there with father, who 
was a carter out of hire and had a bit of whipcord 
tied round his hat as was the custom. I lost him 
in the crowd in Market Place, but I knew that 
he would be in the tap of the Seven Stars in the 
evening. I wandered up Northbrook Street look- 
ing at the shops. It was all wonderful to me, 
because at Burghclere, where I was born, there was 
only one general shop, and in Newbury there 
seemed miles of them. There was a shop for men’s 
hats and ties and shirts on the left-hand side, about 
halfway up after you passed the bridge. I daresay 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 61 


it is there now. I stopped and looked in the 
window. Some of the shirts in it were ticketed, 
“ Gents’ Superfine Quality. Self-fitting, ^s. 6dy 
Others, on the other side of the window, only had, 
“ Men’s Oxfords, u. iid." I can see that window, 
now, exactly as it was. 

I didn’t know what a gent, was, and on our way 
home I asked my father and he told me that a gent, 
was some one different from other people. I told 
him I wanted to be one, but he only grunted, and 
as I was very small and he wanted a lot of steering, 
I hadn’t time to think about it any more just then. 

It was when I was a boot-and-knife boy at the old 
Dragon in Glastonwell that I first saw Peyton 
Dayrell, who was to teach me all there was to know 
about a gentleman. He took notice of me at first 
because there was a likeness between us, as far as 
there could be between a common boy and a gentle- 
man’s son. It was through that that he came to 
take me into service. He said I might be useful 
to him, in case he ever wanted to prove an alibi — 
and he did often. I was very glad to go with him, 
because if ever there was a gentleman he was one, 
clothes and voice and haughty sort of manner and 
all. Not at all the same kind as old Mr. Moresby, 
I don’t mean, but even more the gentlemen in some 
ways. I was eighteen when he sent for me up to 
London, and I was with him twelve years — learning 
as hard as I could all the time — until his death four 
years ago. So, as I say, I ought to know. 

I don’t suppose anyone ever went the pace faster 
than young Dayrell did. His father, the old Colonel, 
must have been a bit of a terror himself in his young 
days, by all accounts. For all that, he drove his 


62 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


son on the curb till the day of his death. After that 
the son just took the bit in his teeth and galloped 
off down hill and never stopped until he came to 
Hell’s Gate. Didn’t run straight either. I don’t 
suppose there ever was a vice that my respected 
master didn’t stop to plunge in up to the neck, and 
by the time he finished 1 shouldn’t wonder if he 
knew more about the business than the Old Gentle- 
man himself. He was always a good friend to me ; 
I will say that for him. 

Of course it was through having such a good 
model that I found it so easy to be a gentlemen my- 
self. And I never felt more grateful to Dayrell 
that I did on the Arctic this trip. I sort of took to 
the old gentleman from the first moment I saw him. 
I went quite red with pleasure when he asked me if 
I wasn’t related to one of his old friends, and when 
he shook hands with me on it 1 felt as if the King 
had knighted me. I never felt that way about 
Dayrell somehow, though, as I say, he was quite 
the gentleman in every way. I never thought it 
more than when he died. It was in Virginia City, 
Nevada. He got shot down by a man whose wife he 
had run away with. I found him about ten minutes 
later, when the blood was nearly all out of him. 
He died game, as a gentleman should. I was hold- 
ing him up, and some of his blood got on my coat. 
“ I’ve spoilt your coat, Hobbes,” he said. “ Better 
take mine. Take all I’ve got. Take my name too. 
It’s a good one. And I shan’t want it in hell.” 

I thought it over afterwards, and I did. His 
clothes fitted me and we were enough like each 
other for me to pass muster if I ran up against any 
of his old friends. He was the last of his family, 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 63 


so there wasn’t anyone to object, and as I had 
quite made up my mind to live a gentleman’s life, 
it was just as well to have Glastonwell as a back- 
ground. 

I was on board the Arctic for professional reasons 
of course. It happened quite by accident. I was 
doing well in Paris, at the bunco game, when I 
happened to get a tip that Madame Concavelli, the 
opera-singer, was sailing in the Arctic and taking 
her famous emeralds with her that the Russian 
Grand-Duke gave her. I happened to have by me 
the fake set that Tiger Flynn had made when he 
was after them, in London, three years ago. The 
Larkins girl, who was jealous of him, gave the 
C.I.D. the office, so he was never able to use them 
himself and they came into my hands. I had 
worked out a scheme, if ever the chance should 
come my way, which seemed sound however you 
looked at it, if only she was staying at one of three 
hotels in New York. 

I tried what the Bible had to say about it, as I 
always do before starting anything fresh, and the 
first words the pin fell on were : “ And He said unto 
them, why are ye so fearful ^ How is it that ye 
have no faith ? ” It was in St. Mark. The fourth 
chapter, towards the end. Nothing could be clearer 
than that, so I dropped everything and just caught 
the boat in time. And one of the first things I 
learnt when I got on board was that the Madame 
was going to stop at the Astor — one of the three. 
I have always said there is no getting away from the 
Bible. 

There was only one fly in my ointment — young 
Ivo Talboys. He is a harmless enough blighter in 


64 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


his way — rather on the soft side — yet the first slant 
I took at the passenger list and saw his name on it 
I fairly squirmed. I believed what I was really 
afraid of was that he would show me up to old Mr. 
Moresby. There was nothing else he could do 
to me that I knew of. 

I did all I could to keep out of his way. Not 
that there was any chance of his recognising me — I 
don’t think he had ever set eyes on me before ; but 
my name was certain to remind him of things best 
forgotten. One of the last hauls Dayrell made 
before we left England was to get, I forget exactly, 
but four or five hundred at least, out of Talboys’ 
elder brother by a trick — a mean trick too, and one 
he wasn’t likely to forget. That is one of the draw- 
backs of having Glastonwell for a background ; you 
have to take the responsibilities with it. 

I ran up against him in the smoke-room the very 
first evening. Some one must have put him wise to 
my name, for it wasn’t down on the list. He must 
have been looking out for me, I think. As soon as 
I came in he got up and came across to me. 

“ Mr. Peyton Dayrell, I think ? ” he said, with 
what was meant to be an nasty sneer. 

That was my name, I told him. There was 
nothing else to be done. 

“ Ah — yes,” he drawled — he was an affected pup. 
“ My brother was asking after you the last time I 
saw him.” 

I could have given him better than he gave ; I 
knew a thing or two about his brother. 1 didn’t 
though. It wasn’t my cue to quarrel with him. 

“ Ah — yes,” I said, imitating his drawl. “ And 
where was he when you heard from him last ? ” 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 65 


That finished him. He just turned away without 
another word. After that we usually took opposite 
corners in the smoke-room. 

I wasn’t working the Arctic that trip. One 
thing at a time has always been my motto. All I 
wanted was to be sure of the size and shape of 
Madame Concavelli’s jewel-case. I knew she kept 
them in the ship’s strong-room during the voyage. 
I wouldn’t have touched them, for that matter, if 
she had left them lying about on the deck. Some 
one had to get them to New York, and rather she 
than I, all the time. I soon found out all I wanted 
to know, and after that my time was my own. 
That was how I was able to see so much of old 
Mr. Moresby. I wanted to study him, at first, as a 
kind of gentleman I hadn’t had much to do with 
before, but in a very short time I got really fond of 
him ; he was such a white man all through. Talboys 
saw it, I suppose, and it was just the spiteful sort of 
thing 1 might have expected from him to put the 
old gentleman on his guard against me. 

He gave me a bad ten minutes too, confound him. 
I had a suspicion what his game was the evening he 
did it : he kept hanging about, waiting for his chance 
like a hobbled jackass. A nice flea in his ear he 
must have got, from what Mr. Moresby told me 
next morning. 

“ I explained to him,” he said, in his funny piping 
old voice, “ that you are my friend and the son ot 
my friend. And, by God, sir, if 1 had had a walking- 
stick in my hand I would have caned the fellow.” 

I saw my line of country at once. I just laughed 
it off. Spoke of Talboys in a pitying sort of way, 
said he was mad because Miss Hertzenstein had 

5 


66 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


just given him the hoof, and that sort of thing. I 
wasn’t troubled with him — not in that way — any 
more that trip. 

I am not exactly a softy in most ways, and it was 
curious how I used to worry over old Mr. Moresby. 
He was such a frail old chap, for one thing. Must 
have been a fine man in his day, the lion-headed 
type, with lots of white hair and a big white mous- 
tache and mild blue eyes like a woman’s. He was a 
bit shaky on his pins, though, even at the start, and 
he got shakier and shakier all the time. He was 
very pale — the sort that doesn’t look natural — and 
his hands were so transparent you could almost see 
through them. I somehow got it into my head he 
must have had a bad mental shock not very long 
before. I know what it was now, of course. If I 
said anything that seemed to bear on his past life he 
used to get confused and have a sort of frightened 
look. Although he had plenty of pluck — he must 
•have been an obstinate man in his prime from the 
way he used to rear up sometimes — he only seemed 
to have the vaguest sort of idea of where he was 
going or what he was going to do when he got there. 
Seemed to think America was a sort of half-settled, 
savage place, and that to get to the Waldorf you 
had to fight Red Indians all the way up Broadway. 
He was quite sure he had a grand-daughter some- 
where in the backwoods, but he didn’t seem to 
expect her to meet him. Didn’t seem to expect 
anything, really. 

I blame that charity concert for everything that 
happened afterwards. I might have known it 
beforehand, for I happened to be consulting the 
Bible that day about something else, and the answer 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 6T 


didn’t seem to have any sort of meaning to it. It 
was the sixteenth chapter of 2 Chronicles came up, 
the thirteenth verse, which was unlucky in itself. 
It read : And Asa slept with his fathers and died 
in the one-and-fortieth year of his reign.” I tumbled 
to what it meant afterwards. 


CHAPTER VIII 

We weren’t much in the way of swells that trip, 
mostly turn-up millionaires of the kind that eat 
with their knife, and the usual way-down indis- 
tinguishables that look as if they slept in their 
clothes. Our right-bower was a German prince 
who had married a Chicago girl, and was on his 
way to see if he could tell the tale to her popper 
again. He used to dine at a table all to himself, 
with his secretary to wake him up in time for the 
courses. He brought his own brandy along, and 
got through a bottle at each meal. We had an 
American countess who had quarrelled with the 
count — you couldn’t blame him when you saw her 
face, like a disappointed lemon-squeezer — and a 
couple of Chinks — marquesses in their own country, 
I think — on their way to the Embassy at Washing- 
ton. In the English line young Talboys was the 
nearest thing to a title on board, if you except 
Fluff Mortimer, who is only a baronet for pro- 
fessional reasons, and makes no secret of it among 
friends. Except Mr. Moresby there wasn’t a man in 
the whole bunch worth two minutes’ real study as 
a model. 

Except for the Dago opera-singers, so far as 
talent went, you might have had as good a chance 
of making up a concert-party in a casual ward, but 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 69 


naturally the usual ass must make himself the usual 
nuisance, getting up the usual charity entertainment, 
and because the Prince offered to take the chair all 
sorts of fossils must turn up and offer their services 
in the cause of charity. Young Talboys was the 
usual ass that time, and loved himself in the part, 
writing out draft programmes and holding pow-wows 
with battered old ladies in all the gangways, and 
generally playing pussy-cat poppy-cock all over the 
ship. He got up a preliminary list, of eighty-four 
turns I think it was. Then he had the sense to 
have some kind of a rehearsal beforehand — and cut 
his list down to five — and had to begin all over 
again. 

Some triple-plated idiot took it into his head to 
suggest old Mr. Moresby — wanted to get a cheap 
laugh out of the old gentleman, I suppose. As 
Talboys knew it was no good asking himself, he 
set the Hertzenstein girl — the Copper King’s 
daughter — on him. I happened to be with him 
when she asked him. He put a lot of questions 
about the charity, and ended up by saying that he 
would be happy to assist such a worthy cause, and 
they could put his name down for a song. 

I felt pretty average bad about it, because I made 
sure some of them would start guying him — you 
find cattle on other ships besides cattleships crossing 
the Pond. When he turned up to time in a funny 
old dress suit that looked as if it might have come 
out of the Garden of Eden, I believe I went green 
all over. When his turn came he got up as simply 
as a child might at a Sunday-school tea-fight, 
whispered a word or two to the idiot Talboys, who 
was accompanying him, and launched out on a queer 


70 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


old-fashioned song, called, I think, ‘‘ The Tarpaulin 
Jacket,” about a soldier who is telling his comrades 
how they are to bury him. He sang it in a withered 
old treble that he hadn’t got under proper control, 
and that cracked whenever he tried a high note — 
and altogether we ought to have split our sides with 
laughing. We didn’t, though. He had such a 
sweet old face, and such a serious look, like a kid 
that is trying to do its best ; and somehow he looked 
so lonely, standing up there by himself in his funny 
dress suit, singing about the six jolly fellows that 
were to wrap him up and bury him, that when he 
had finished, there was scarcely any applause, only a 
sort of hushed whisper, and half the women were 
mopping their eyes, and some of the men too. 
The German Highness, who was three-quarters 
drunk, had the tears streaming down his face, and 
Madame Concavelli — who is so fat that she looks as 
if she had been trussed and larded for cooking, and 
was covered all over with emeralds like green blobs 
of perspiration — ^jumped out of her seat and lollopped 
up to the old boy, kissed him, and said she would 
give ten years of her life to be able to move people 
as he could. And all the time he just stood there, 
giving a little shy bow every now and then, with a 
sort of wondering look on his simple old face. 
Everything fell flat as a pancake afterwards, but I 
reckon the Orphans got a record collection that trip. 

Half an hour after that he was taken sick. I 
didn’t hear of it at once, because I had been roped 
in to do a turn. A comic recitation it was supposed 
to be, and I went through it like a deaf mute 
following his own funeral. They wouldn’t let me 
in at first, because the doctor was with him, and 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 71 


the steward didn’t know whether he was alive or 
dead. The excitement had brought on some kind 
of a fit, and he had fallen and cut his head. I 
waited in the gangway until the doctor came out 
— and I felt bad. Macdonald, who knows me as 
well as most men, must have seen it, because he 
let me go in and watch by his bed that night. 

It is pretty well known that out of every hundred 
men who go wrong ninety-nine have a woman to 
blame for it. In my own profession you might 
make it the round number, for besides the ninety- 
nine who make you give yourself away, there is 
always the one who does it for you. I have never 
had much to do with them for that reason, just 
as I am a teetotaller as near as no matter, and 
practically a non-smoker. The only woman I have 
ever been on what you might call intimate terms 
with — except professionally — was my mother, and 
all I can remember of her is that she could drink 
my father under the table any day of the week. 
She gave me my taste for the Bible, though. I will 
say that for her. I have never had a friend either 
— you can trust them almost as little as women — 
unless you count Peyton Dayrell — since I made 
up my mind to work entirely on my own. I 
suppose that is why I cottoned on to old Mr. 
Moresby so ; he got everything that in the ordinary 
way would have been split up among a dozen 
people. I remember thinking it all out as I sat 
by his bed that night. 

Next morning he was better again, and from that 
time I was with him a good deal. I remember, as 
we were getting near shore, he let me pack for 
him ; and afterwards, when he was thanking me, as 


72 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


he always did in funny little set speeches for the 
smallest thing, he told me that I did it so well I 
might have been a gentleman’s servant all my life. 
He laughed as he said it. 

There was an unusual lot of fog right across the 
banks, and we weren’t expected to get in before 
the Sunday night or Monday morning, according to 
luck. On the Sunday evening I was reading to him 
out of the Bible, when Dr. Macdonald came in to 
see him. I was feeling rather cheerful, because the 
first verse 1 had struck on opening it looked as if 
he might get well after all. It was in Saint Luke, 
and it read : “ He called her to Him, and He said. 
Woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity.” 

I happened to have it in my pocket when I went 
in to see how he was getting along, and when I 
asked him if I could do anything for him he said 
I might read to him a bit. I asked him what he 
would like, and he said, if I didn’t mind, he thought 
he would like something out of the Bible. I pulled 
it out of my pocket at once, and you have no idea 
how pleased he was. 

“ I am glad — very glad,” he said, beaming all 
over, “ to see that you are not one of those who 
sneer *at religion.” 

1 told him that I certainly was not that, whatever 
I was. 

‘‘ The Bible is our sure guide,” he said, as if he 
was talking to himself. 

It pleased me to hear him say that, because I have 
always found it so myself. I felt that the Conca- 
velli emeralds were as good as in my pocket. I 
asked him what particular part he would like, and 
he said anywhere in the New Testament. It opened 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 73 

at Saint Luke, as I say, and he said that would do 
excellently. I turned over a page or two and began 
reading. It turned out to be the same story as the 
novel, “ The Prodigal Son ” 1 think it is called. I 
had just got to the bit about the young blighter 
being sent out into the fields to feed the swine, 
when 1 heard him whispering to himself something 
about his dear son. He had never mentioned having 
a son to me before. 1 went on reading for a bit 
until I came to the place where the young fellow 
says, “ I am no more worthy to be called thy son.” 

The berth creaked at that, and when I looked 
round he was sitting up, with his hand held out as 
if he was saying how-do-you-do to some one. “ I 
always knew it was not true, Dicky lad,” he said, 
quite loud, as if he was talking to some one. I 
give you my word I never believed it.” 

I didn’t quite see how it was with him until I 
heard him give a little gasp. He set his hand to 
his side, and his poor old eyes all puckered up with 
pain. I thought he was going to faint, and I put 
my arm round him to hold him up. He seemed to 
be feeling for something under the bed-clothes that 
he couldn’t find at first. At last he pulled out a 
leather writing-wallet, all crammed with papers. 
He put it into my hands, sort of eagerly. “ Read 
it,” he said. “ I have written it for Estelle. You 
will understand.” I took it out of his hands, and 
he seemed satisfied and lay back on his pillows 
again. Then he began to mutter under his breath. 
I couldn’t hear what he said. Whenever I tried to 
leave him for a moment to get at the bell-push, 
which was just out of reach from where I sat, he 
would catch at my arm with a funny soft sort of grip. 


74 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


At last he stopped mumbling and said quite loudly 
and in his ordinarry voice : “ Of course I forgive 
you, Richard. Don’t think any more about it. And 
now, kiss me good night and get off to bed. I 
think I can sleep now.” I could see that his mind 
was wandering and that he thought I was his son. 
I leant down and kissed him. I didn’t see what else 
I could do. I remember hoping to goodness that 
his son had worn a moustache, or that he wouldn’t 
notice mine. He seemed quite satisfied, anyway. 
He said, ‘‘ Thank you, my dear child,” in his funny 
polite way, and then he snuggled himself down 
among the pillows, still keeping my hand in his, so 
that I dared not take it away. 


CHAPTER IX 


I NEVER thought I should be glad to see young 
Talboys, but when he came in, after knocking so 
softly that I never noticed it, I tell you my heart 
leaped. 

“Just been looking for you,” he began. 
“ Thought perhaps ” 

I held up my hand to stop him. “Go like hell 
for the doctor,” I whispered. “He’s bad.” 

He stared for a moment and then went off as I 
had told him. He was quick too ; it wasn’t three 
minutes before he was back with Macdonald. The 
doctor touched some place — some muscle, I sup- 
pose — on old Mr. Moresby’s arm, that made him 
release my hand. Then he told us we should only 
be in the way, and hustled us both out into the 
cross-gangway. 

Two or three rubberers were hanging around, 
having seen the doctor pass in a hurry. I fell on 
them like a thunderstorm and chased them to the 
other end of the ship, after which 1 felt better. 
Talboys was still waiting there when I got back, 
which made me feel a bit sore, for I didn’t see what 
right he had there. I didn’t take any notice of 
him, though, until he spoke to me. 

“ Mr. Dayrell,” he said, politely enough. It was 
the first time we had been alone together since that 


76 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


first evening in the smoke room. ‘‘ I should like to 
have a word with you.” 

“ This is scarcely the place — or the time.” I 
reminded him. 

“ Quite so,” he drawled. He has rather a good 
drawl — the Balliol manner, I have heard it called, 
and I was sorry I hadn’t had more opportunity to 
study it. ‘‘ If you could give me half an hour in 
your cabin afterwards you would not — er — regret 
it.” 

1 just nodded. 1 didn’t feel like talking then. 
Pretty soon Macdonald put his head round the door 
and asked one of us to fetch the dispensary steward. 
After I had brought him back there was another 
wait. It seemed hours. Then Macdonald sent him 
out to say it was no good our waiting. He would 
let us know how things went, later. The steward 
said there was no immediate danger. He spoke in 
the superior way a man who isn’t a gentleman 
always does when he knows something that you 
don’t. 

“ Will you come along now ^ ” I asked Talboys 
and led the way to my cabin. It wasn’t far, off the 
same main gangway. I found I was still carrying 
the wallet the old gentleman had put in my hand. 
I hadn’t noticed it before. I put it down on my 
berth and turned to Talboys. He was making 
himself comfortable on the edge of the lower one on 
the other side. I was in one of the four-berth 
cabins, but I had it all to myself. 

“ You are fond of that old boy ^ ” he asked, as if 
that was all we had come to talk about. 

‘‘ I am,” I said shortly. I did not feel like dis- 
cussing it. 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 77 


He dropped his head on one of his hands and 
seemed to be thinking about something — stretching 
his long legs right across the cabin under my berth. 
I waited long enough for manners, and then I asked 
him civilly what he wanted. 

“ I am wondering whether I am doing right,” he 
said, half to himself. “ You see, Mr. Dayrell, you 
are such a comprehensive scoundrel.” 

He didn’t say it in the least as if he meant to be 
offensive, rather as if he was talking to some one 
who wasn’t there. 

“ I have killed men for saying less,” I said. 
Curiously enough, I didn’t feel at all angry. Only 
interested. 

“ You can never have heard the truth about your- 
self, then,” he answered, in the same tone as before. 
“ I can’t see myself doing it, somehow. Not that it 
matters.” 

“ 1 don’t know what you are talking about,” I 
told him. 

“ Probably not.” He seemed to wake up at 
that. “ Well Mr. Dayrell, I want to ask you one 
or two questions. I suppose we can’t be over- 
heard ” 

‘‘ Quite impossible. Fire away.” Something 
told me I should be wiser to hear what he had to say 
instead of firing him out. 

“ You were in Paris two or three weeks ago, were 
you not ? ” 

“ I was.” 

“ And you met a man there named West. A 
son of State Senator West — whatever that means — 
of Albany ? ” 

“ What the deuce — but anyway — what if I did? ” 


78 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


“You had some — some financial dealings with 
him ? ’’ 

“ Is this the third degree you — but, oh — all right. 
Did I ? What about it ? ” 

“ Rather a vindictive sort of person, the Senator, 
isn’t he ^ ” 

“ 1 don’t know. He has nothing against me, 
anyway.” 

“ Not against you, perhaps, Mr. Dayrell. But 
perhaps against Mr. Clarges, from Saint Petersburg. 
Of the British Diplomatic Service. Don’t you 
think ? ” 

I didn’t know that I had advertised my move- 
ments in the Daily Mail, but he seemed to know all 
about them. “Well.?” I said, “What then.? If 
his son chooses to — ” 

“ Nothing — nothing at all. Mr. Dayrell, did it 
ever strike you that the wireless telegraph is rather 
a wonderful invention .? ” 

I didn’t answer. I was feeling too interested. 

“ And that the Arclic is fitted with it ? ” 

“ He would never — Look here. What do you 
think you are telling me .? ” 

“ I am not telling you anything.” He blinked — 
and that blink made me realise he wasn’t quite such 
a fool as I had thought him. “Go on,” I told him. 
“ You know that Mr. Hertzenstein is on board .? ” 
“ Of course.” 

“ And that he is the — what do you call it — the 
Vice-president of the Line ? ” 

“ So I have heard.” 

He was silent for a time. I began to get worried. 
“ Go on, man,” I told him. “ What then .? ” 

“ I suppose if any important message came over 


PEYTON DARRELL’S NARRATIVE 79 


the wireless he would be quite likely to hear about 
it, wouldn’t he ? ” 

“Very likely, I should think.” 

“ And it is possible that he might tell his daughter 
about it, don’t you think ? ” 

“ And she might mention it, in strict confidence, 
to some particular friend. Shouldn’t wonder a bit.” 
“ No, neither should 1. Mind if I smoke ? ” 

“ Of course not. Have one of these.” 

“ Thanks, prefer my own.” 

He wouldn’t even take a light from me. Quite 
neatly done, but damnable. It meant something, 
too, only I couldn’t be sure what, exactly. 

“ Ever do any fox-hunting, Mr. Dayrell ^ ” 

I was just going to lash out at him when I saw 
daylight. “ And felt damned sorry for the fox too,” 
I said. 

“ H-m-m. Quite so. Though I suppose if he 
wasn’t a fox he wouldn’t be hunted. Anyway, Miss 
Hertzenstein would agree with you. She was out 
with — the Quorn, I think it was — last season. 
Always hoped the fox would escape, she says. 
Fanciful sort of girl. What do you think about it ^ ” 
I had quite tumbled to it by that time, though of 
course I didn’t let on. “ What do you ? ” 

“ Hard to say. So much depends on the circum- 
stances. If there was any chance, for instance, that 
the fox might give up stealing chickens afterwards I 
might see it. But the average fox doesn’t change 
his nature, even when he has lost his tail.” 

“ Exceptions prove the rule, you know.” 

“ Yes, sometimes.” 

“ And in that case ^ ” 

“ Oh, in that case I should probably say, ‘ My 


80 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


dear Mr. Fox, I am going to help you out of a scrape 
this time, although you stole some — some of my 
brother’s chickens not so long ago. Only do try 
and run straight in future, or the hounds will 
certainly get you some time.’ Miss Hertzenstein 
quite agreed with me. But I am talking the sheerest 
rot, Mr, Dayrell. You must excuse my taking up 
so much of your time, especially when you want to 
pack — or something.” 

“ Not a bit, thanks. With this fog we shan’t get 
in before to-morrow afternoon. Can’t you hear the 
syrens going all round us ? ” 

He gave a little shiver, very well done if it wasn’t 
natural. “ All round us. Makes one think of the 
hounds closing in all round that fox.” 

“ Not very likely to catch him in a fog,” I said 
with a laugh. 

“ They could wait until it cleared, though, and 
have him then. But I am talking rot again. Mr. 
Dayrell, you are an older traveller than I am. 
Supposing, say, the chairman, or president, or what- 
ever you call him, of a steamship line was crossing in 
one of his own boats, and there was a devil of a fog 
that held it up, and he had some frightfully impor- 
tant business that he just had to see to, in New York, 
say, early in the morning. Is there any way he 
could do it, do you think ? ” 

“ I suppose he could arrange by wireless for a tug 
to meet him and hurry him up to town. Pretty 
average chance of missing him, though, in a fog.” 

“ Even with prearranged signals, and wireless, and 
things ^ I don’t know anything about such things, 
but I should have thought it possible.” He took 
out his watch and looked at it, and then looked up 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 81 


at me with one of the most puzzled expressions I 
ever saw on a human face. “ Supposing he sent a 
wireless message that the tug was to wait about, off 
Fire Island, say, or Sandy Hook, or wherever it 
might be, and let off a certain arrangement of blasts 
on her hooter, or whatever you call it, say at half- 
past nine in the evening, and the liner was to do 
the same thing when she got to the same place. I 
should have thought there would have been some 
chance of their meeting all right. Don’t you 
think ^ ” 

For the life of me I couldn’t help looking at my 
own watch. It was just past eight. The dinner- 
bugle must have gone ages ago, though I hadn’t 
heard it. 

“ But we haven’t finished with that old fox yet,” 
I said, with what was meant for a laugh. “It would 
be easy enough to wish ” 

He held up his hand with a bored air of protest. 
“ We have been a long time over the one subject. 
Suppose we change it. Do you care for fancy dress 
balls ? ” 

“ If it was amateur theatricals, now.” 

“ Often thought I should like to go to one got 
up as a French maid. Only I couldn’t manage the 
voice. Judging from your recitation on Wednesday, 
you could.” 

“ Too big,” I told him meaningly. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Some of them are big. 
Miss Hertzenstein’s woman, for instance. Every 
bit as tall as you are.” 

“ The trouble about those things,” I said, “ is 
usually the clothes. One can always manage the 
make-up.” Which was true enough. 


6 


82 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


He began to laugh suddenly. I wasn’t in any 
laughing mood myself. I had heard all about State 
Senator West — and what a vindictive sort of brute 
he was — and what a lot of influence he had up at 
Albany. Talboys annoyed me a bit, too. I couldn’t 
see the necessity for playing all round the point as 
he did, without ever coming to it. If anything 
went wrong there wouldn’t be any need for him to 
be drawn into it anyway, that I could see. 

He rose slowly and yawned. “ I must be getting 
along,” he said. “ Half-past nine — and I must get 
some food first.” 

‘‘Surely you aren’t going I asked him, in 
some surprise. 

“ Going where ? ” He sat down again suddenly. 
“ No — I never was there. Should love to go. 
They say it is the most beautiful river scenery in the 
world.” 

His ears were quicker than mine, though I have 
nothing to grumble at in that way. While he was 
still speaking the door opened and the doctor ppt 
his head in. In a moment I had forgotten all about 
foxes and French maids. “ Is he — how is he ? ” I 
stammered. 

“ He is asleep now. Sleeping easily.” 

“ How will he ? ” I began again, and upon 

my word, I couldn’t finish it. 

“ I don’t know,” said Macdonald. “ He is 
old. Seems to me to have something on his 
mind.” 

“ I know,” I said eagerly. “ It was his son.” 
They both looked incredulous. “ He was an old 
friend of my father’s,” I said. 

“ I don’t know anything about that,” said Mac- 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 83 


donald. ‘‘ He will do until the morning, anyway. 
Craven, the steward, is in there with him now.” 

I thought of that tug drawing up closer and closer 
through the fog. “ It wouldn’t hurt — if I just went 
in and had a look at him ^ ” I asked. 

Macdonald looked at me in a surprised sort of 
way. “ You have got to be quiet then. If you 
woke him just now ” 

I was just going off when Talboys, for the second 
time, picked himself up. “ I must be getting 
along,” he said. “ I expect the old gentleman will 
be looked after well enough.” He was right 
between me and the door, so that there was no room 
to pass him. He held out his hand to me suddenly. 
“ Good-bye, old Fox,” he said, “ and good luck.” 

As I shot out of the cabin I heard Macdonald’s 
voice, with a sort of surprise in it. “ Didn’t know 
you knew him as well as that,” he was saying. 

The steward was sitting under the shade of the 
lamp as I opened the door, noiselessly of course. 
He looked up at me, but I didn’t take any notice of 
him. Old Mr. Moresby was asleep all right. His 
breath sounded easy and he looked as if he was 
smiling. One of his hands was flung out so that it 
was resting on the edge of the bed. I stood and 
looked at him for a little. I was really sorry to say 
goodbye to him. I knew there was precious little 
chance I should ever see him again. 

I hadn’t been five minutes gone, but when I got 
back my cabin was empty. There was a big black 
bundle lying in my berth. It was all tied up with 
string. Sort of thing a second-hand clothesman 
would have revelled in. I untied it. The knots 
were pretty stiff, but I hate cutting string. It is a 


84 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


sort of whim of mine. I knew what was in it be- 
forehand. It was a woman’s get up. Black dress of 
some dull stuff — bombazine they call it, 1 think ; 
black hat with a thick black veil ; black cross-over 
cloak. Everything — down to a pair of stays, though 
I didn’t worry about them. 

I was on the boat-deck at half-past nine, and my 
own mother wouldn’t have known me — even if she 
had been sober. I packed all the things I absolutely 
needed in a small grip. I had Mr. Moresby’s 
wallet in my hand. I must have been a queer- 
looking woman, but fortunately nobody happened 
to meet me in the gangway, and after I got out on 
deck in the fog it didn’t matter much anyway. It 
always distorts things. 

It was something like half an hour before any- 
thing happened, and I began to get uncommonly 
chilly, although I had kept most of my own clothes 
on, underneath. Several men kept on moving about, 
but I kept out of their way all right. I seemed to 
hear a lot of hooting through the fog that might 
have been signals, but nothing happened on our 
side, until at last, from somewhere up overhead I 
heard our syren start. Sounded as if it was trying 
to play “ The Star Spangled Banner,” I thought. 
Then a search-light began to glare through the 
darkness and a lot of deck-hands came trampling 
along the deck. I kept behind one of the deck- 
houses until I saw them let down a lubber’s gangway. 
A big man came along with a woman beside him, 
muffled up to the eyes. I edged over towards them, 
trying to look as if I had just happened along there 
by accident, until she saw me. “ Ah, c’est Liane,” 
I heard her say. ‘‘ Mais — depechez-vous, Liane. 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 85 


Voici le bdteau.” And so on. I thanked my stars 
that I could remember a bit of French in an 
emergency. 

“ Me voici, Mademoiselle,” I squeaked as much 
like a woman as I could manage. “ Ouah — que j’ai 
peur.” 

The big man grunted and went down the steps, 
and the other waited to give me a hand. “N’oubliez 
pas, Liane,” said Miss Hertzenstein, as I passed her. 
“ N’oubliez pas. Mademoiselle Renard,” said one 
of the men standing by her, half hidden in the fog. 


CHAPTER X 

I HAD plenty of time to figure on the meaning of 
what had happened, but the more I thought about 
it the less daylight I could see. If the whole thing 
wasn’t some kind of a trap, which I couldn’t suppose, 
for otherwise, why hadn’t they just left things 
alone ? — it looked as if either Ivo Talboys or Miss 
Hertzenstein had fallen in love with my beaux 
yeux — and I couldn’t see either of them in the part. 
For that matter, I couldn’t see why the Central 
Office should be particularly interested in me just 
then. It was likely enough that young Carter 
West had written home, whining for more money, 
and very likely told his father why he wanted it ; 
but from what 1 had heard of the old man he wasn’t 
the sort of person to publish it, if he could help it. 
And I couldn’t think of anything else that I was 
particularly wanted for. Unless, of course, there 
was a new police scandal on in little old New York 
— and they wanted to make an example out of 
some one. I decided at last it wasn’t any use 
worrying over things until I had something to go 
upon. 

It was as easy a trip as ever I had. I got a seat 
right over the stern, and there I stayed. Men came 
up several times and told me there was a cabin for 
me down below, but for all I knew I might find old 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 87 


Hertzenstein himself waiting for me. I didn’t want 
to lift my veil anyway. So I just squeaked, “ Non. 
Non. Non. Ne comprends pas,” and after a bit 
they left me alone. 

I am not a sailor, and I suppose there was some 
one on board who knew, but I shouldn’t like to have 
taken the responsibility of butting through the fog 
the way we did with the President of I don’t know 
how many Steel and Copper and Shipping Trusts 
on board. It wasn’t until we had got way up past 
Staten Island that the fog lifted a bit. It was 
getting on towards morning then, and in the grey 
light I could just get a glimpse of the Liberty 
Statue, and then I suppose we swung over to the 
right. The fog lifted again and there was a pale, 
pearly light that gave a moment’s glimpse of the tall 
skyscrapers standing up like cliffs at the end of 
Manhattan — and the next thing I saw was the huge 
long sign of a Hungarian aperient water over 
Brooklyn way that always strikes me as being such 
a curious sort of welcome to America somehow. 

There wasn’t any trouble about landing. It was 
somewhere up about 14th Street, on the East 
River, not the usual wharf anyway — and they 
seemed to look upon Mr Hertzenstein as if he was 
God Almighty and had dropped in unexpectedly. 
I suppose the Customs were somewhere about, but 
they didn’t come my way. One or two people 
asked me questions, but all I said was, “ Oui, 
oui, monsieur,” and stuck as close to Mr. Hertzen- 
stein as I could. And I got through nobly. 

I sort of realised what it must be like to be really 
a woman and let yourself drift into the arms of any 
one who will tell you where to go. The next thing 


88 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


that happened I was in a taxi-cab ,by myself, going 
straight away west — after Mr. Hertzenstein’s car, 
I suppose, though I couldn’t see it. There was a 
regular London particular. I kept looking out, and 
at last I recognised the Academy of Music, and after 
that the cafe at the corner of Broadway and Union 
Square, where you can get more in the way of a 
free lunch when you are broke than any other I 
ever struck in Manhattan. 

When I saw that I felt at home again, and I 
signalled the shover to stop. I had the devil’s own 
work to get at my pocket under all the skirts and 
things I was wearing, but I got there in time and 
slipped the guy five dollars. I honestly believed he 
would have touched me for another five, only I got 
away in time, grip and all complete. In under ten 
minutes I was in Donohue’s saloon over on Third 
Avenue, and after that it was all plain sailing. 
Donohue is a good boy, and his clothes just fit me. 
The next morning, after 1 had taken a slant at the 
Journal^ to see if there was anything likely to 
interest me, I paid a visit to the home-base and 
then took another taxi to the Astor, where 1 arrived 
tired to death, after having travelled all night from 
Montreal. My name was Aitcheson, from Moose 
Jaw ; and, by a curious coincidence, 1 got the next 
room to Madame Concavelli, who hadn’t turned 
up yet, but whose room was on the sixth floor, 
looking over Broadway. Ordered in advance. 

I had some breakfast sent up to my room and did 
a bit more thinking over it — but without getting 
any further. I was most concerned about old Mr. 
Moresby. I hated to think I might never see him 
again. I couldn’t somehow feel that he was going 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 89 


to die, but even so I had no idea where to find him 
again, and precious little time to do it in. My 
business was to finish off* the Concavelli aff*air as 
quick as possible and then make a break for the 
West without losing a minute. I believe I should 
have dropped even that, only for what the Bible 
had said and my having the fake set with me. 
Those near-emeralds were fine ; she might wear 
them for a month and never see any difference. 

I had just finished my breakfast, without settling 
anything, when my eye happened to fall on the 
letter-wallet I had been carrying around ever since 
he gave it to me. I picked it up and opened it. 
It was all stuffed with papers, and the very first 
thing that I took out was a wad of British bank- 
notes, neatly tied round with paper and string, with 
“ For my dear grand-daughter ” written on it. I 
counted them. There was just ;^ 50 o. On another 
bundle that looked like old letters was written 
“ Papers vindicating my dear son’s memory.” 
The biggest bundle of all was closely written over, 
like the manuscript of a book, and without any 
inscription. It was mostly sheets of note-paper 
opened out and written on on both sides. There 
was a crest in one corner, an animal holding what 
might be a crown, with chains round its neck, 
and a motto under it, “ A Azincour.” In the other 
corner was an address : “ Squirrels, Annington, 
Kent. Station, Ashurst, S. E. & C. Ry.” Some of 
the rest looked as if it might have been sheets 
pulled out of a child’s exercise book, and there 
was some plain notepaper that I had given him, 
and a good lot with the ship’s name on it, and even 
some used letters turned over and written on the 


90 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


back. The first of these I looked at was from one 
of the big London stores, acknowledging a cheque, 
and addressed on the top. “ Major-General Sir 
Edward Barrington Fanhope, V.C., K.C.B., etc., 
etc.” 

That hit me right between the eyes, because 1 saw 
at once it must be Mr. Moresby’s real name. It 
explained so many things about him. It looked as 
if he had been getting into trouble with the law that 
he should be chasing off to another country under a 
false name. I know what that means to anyone, 
much less an old man : yet I couldn’t believe it of 
him somehow. I looked at some of the other used 
letters, and they were all addressed the same way. 
After that I began to read what he had written, and 
of course that explained everything. 

It was very clearly and neatly written, almost as 
easy to read as print, except in places, where it got 
very shaky all at once for a page or two, perhaps 
when he was having one of his heart attacks, poor 
old boy. He seemed to have written it in five 
sittings, and I thought the writing of each was a bit 
less certain than the one before it. I had often 
wondered what he found to write that kept him so 
interested. He must have been writing the last 
sentence, about Talboys, when I went in to read for 
him the last time. 

I don’t think I have ever been so pleased as to 
read, in his own writing, what he thought of me, 
and how he never had any suspicions that I was not 
a gentleman born. He ought to know, a general 
and a V.C., if anyone did. I have no doubt what 
he says about jewellery is right, and I shan’t wear 
my diamond bosom-pin or studs or links any more. 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 91 


That is just one of the outside tips that are so 
useful. 

Pleased or not, what I read didn’t make things 
any easier for me. Simplest thing would have been 
to send the wallet straight along to Miss Seaton ; 
but that wasn’t so easy as it looked. I couldn’t run 
down with it myself, because it was absolutely 
necessary for me to lie low until the evening, if I 
didn’t want to pay a visit to the Tombs. It wasn’t 
any good sending it by mail, or messenger either. 
Old Mr. Moresby — Sir Edward, I mean — might 
think “ Linworth Building, New York,” was enough 
address, but he didn’t know the Linworth Building. 
I do. To find one little stenographer in that great 
warren of a building would take a month of 
Sundays, and very likely not find her then. I 
might get at her by advertising, but I hadn’t time 
for that. 

Next best thing would be to give it back to Sir 
Edward himself. But I had lost him too, and had 
precious little chance of finding him — supposing he 
was alive. I did ring up the Waldorf, after reading 
what he said about going there, but he hadn’t turned 
up, although the Arctic got in before midday. 

It wouldn’t do for me to keep the wallet about 
me, either, because if anything went wrong over 
the Concavelli business, it would be found on me 
and taken to the Central Office, and the story given 
out to the reporters ; and I could just think what 
use they would make of it, and how the old gentle- 
man would squirm at what they said, and what he 
would think of me for it. 

I even thought of sending it to Ivo Talboys, who 
was at the Waldorf all right ; but I didn’t feel too 


92 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


sure that he could be trusted. He had treated me 
well enough, but I knew he was as poor as a street- 
sweeper, and that wad of bank-notes would be a 
big temptation. It might seem so easy to him to 
burn the writing and pocket the notes and say he 
had never received them. 

I have made up my mind at last to keep the 
wallet by me until I am through with the Conca- 
velli affair. I don’t see how my plans can fail after 
the careful way I have worked them out. After- 
wards, if there seems anything of a stir, I shall make 
a bee-line for Donohue’s and lie low until I can 
find some way of getting at Miss Seaton. It is 
taking a bit of risk, but I would do more than that 
to keep the good opinion of old Mr. — Sir Edward, 
I mean. I am following his example, and setting 
down everything just as it happened, so that Miss 
Estelle may know — in case I don’t see her myself — 
just how the wallet came into my hands, and just 
what a fine old gentleman her grandfather is. 1 
know what I am saying, too, because, as I have 
said, I have spent most of my life studying over it. 
She needn’t be afraid of giving me away over the 
Concavelli affair either. I shan’t be using the name 
of Dayrell for some time to come, and when I want 
it again I have a pretty good pull politically, when 
there aren’t any police-scandals on, anyway. 

I am writing this in the bow of my window 
looking out over Times Square, and all the lights 
and bustle of Broadway just before theatre time. I 
have just been taking an observation, and I find that 
the Madame is still in her room, so that I have a 
little time on my hands still. I haven’t any doubt 
that things will go right, because I have been 


PEYTON DAYRELL’S NARRATIVE 93 


consulting the Bible again, and the first words that 
came up were, “ Well done, thou good and 
faithful servant.” Nothing could be clearer than 
that. 


PART III 


KITTY WILLIAMSON’S NARRATIVE 
CHAPTER XI 

I WAS down in the Dutch grill at Butcher’s when it 
happened. I had a boy with me. He was rather a 
nice boy, from somewhere down in Virginia — 
Newport News, I think — and I was feeling grateful 
when I thought what some of them are. I didn’t 
feel a bit like supper, but you know how it is, and 
I took him there because it would cost him less 
than some of the places. We were up at the end 
of the room against the wall. One of the girls — 
Lottie Benderson, I think it was, who was there 
with a crowd of the English boys playing down at 
the Bijou in “ The Clergyman’s Daughter ” — began 
to show them how to do the real grizzly bear. I 
remember that, and that it was just a quarter of 
twelve, because I noticed how badly she’d done 
her face and how the ostrich plume in her hat had 
all come ungummed in the rain. 

My boy told me his name was Japhet, I know, 
because it made me laugh, and his mother was a 
Christian scientist and wouldn’t let his father have 
his teeth seen to. He was ordering champagne. 


KITTY’S NARRATIVE 


59 


They always do, because they think it’s the proper 
London fashion, although I told him I hated it, and 
would much rather have pabst or a highball. He 
was looking down the list wanting to choose the 
cheapest, and afraid to, for fear I should think him 
a tightwad. I always feel rather sorry for boys 
like that, and I was just going to give him some 
good advice when He came in. 

My heart just stopped beating when I saw him. 
Not because I didn’t want him to see who I was 
with. That is only business, and he knows it as 
well as I do. But he was looking so tired and 
anxious. It was the first time I’d seen him for I 
don’t know how long. It seemed years to me. I’d 
been looking out for him day after day, because I 
would gladly lie down in the mud and let him walk 
over me, if only he would, but he wouldn’t, because 
he only looks on me as so much dirt, as of course 
I am to him. 

The first time I saw him was on the Arcadic^ 
when I was coming out with the “ Girl from Our 
Alley ” company. I was an awful baby then. I 
had been in service, although my father used to 
keep one of the best establishments in the millinery 
in Leamington once. But he suffered reverses, and 
first I was in service and then I was in the chorus 
with the ‘‘ Girl from Our Alley.” I think I loved 
him the first moment I set eyes on him. Of course 
it was no good, I knew that. He was a gentleman, 
and I — I wasn’t ever a lady, though I should have 
liked to be, for his sake. He has such dear grey 
eyes. They thrill you right down your backbone 
when they look at you. He could have made a 
decent girl of me if only he had cared to. 


96 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


He never so much as gave me a second thought. 
I think I loved him for that too, because they used 
to say I was pretty in those days. He spoke to me 
two or three times coming over — but not like some 
of them. It was as if he thought a girl was a human 
being same as himself. 

You know how it is with a girl. It was a bogus 
management, and I was left stranded here in New 
York. And after that — there was Baby to keep. 
I often used to think of him and how it might have 
been if only things had been different. Two or 
three months afterwards I spoke to him on Sixth 
Avenue, not knowing who he was. I had been ill, 
in the hospital, and I was nearly starving. He knew 
me at once — I thought I should have died of shame 
— it’s funny how it takes you sometimes. And he 
was just — just as if I had been his sister. He 
begged me to honour him by letting him help me, 
because we were both English. And I had to, 
because it was him. And when I wrote to him 
afterwards, when things were going better with me, 
he let me pay him back, and never said a word. 
You don’t know what it meant to me. And now — 
oh, I don’t suppose I’ll ever see him again. They 
say it means twenty years for him — or else the 
chair. 

When I saw him come down into the Dutch grill 
with that worried look in his eyes, I couldn’t think 
of anything else. He looked round as if he wanted 
to find someone in a hurry and didn’t know if they 
were there. I didn’t think it could be me, but I 
stood up and waved my hand to him. I couldn’t 
help it. He saw me and he came straight across to 
me — he never looked for anyone else then. 


KITTY’S NARRATIVE 


97 


“ The very person I was looking for,” he said. 
“ I want to see you particular, for a moment, 
Kitty.” 

He hadn’t ever called me by my name before. I 
knew somehow that he was in trouble and wanted 
help. The boy didn’t seem to want to go, so I just 
turned on him and told him he had got to, quick — 
and he went. I daresay he was frightened. They 
tell me I can look like the devil sometimes. 

Almost before he had gone, Jim slipped some- 
thing across the table to me quickly. ‘‘ Slip it in 
your muff, Kitty,” he said. “ Nobody must see it.” 
It was a leather case, square — and it seemed full 
of papers. Mrs. Hugo was letting me wear Lalage 
Sewell’s grey furs that night, because Lalage was 
sick. There was just room for it in the muff. 

He was in evening dress, and he had shaved his 
moustache off, and he looked so beautiful. He isn’t 
like a man somehow — at least you don’t think it of 
him. He sat down at my table and I poured him 
out a glass of the wine they had just brought, into 
my glass. He drank it off, out of my glass, and I 
could see that his eyes were watching the door in 
the mirror behind me all the time. And then he 
told me that it had all gone wrong. He didn’t tell 
me what it was then, but 1 heard about it afterwards. 
Because of the police-scandal that the papers are 
writing of they daren’t let him go, because they 
didn’t know themselves who might be watching 
them ; but Mendel, the lieutenant I mean, is a 
friend of his, and he had given him just five minutes. 
He had thought I might be in Butcher’s — Mendel 
had, I mean — and Jim had jumped at the chance. 
There wasn’t another person in the world he could 

7 


98 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


trust to do what he wanted, and would I ? I told 
him — it didn’t matter then — that I was ready to die 
for him if he wanted it. He smiled — just the same 
beautiful smile that makes you think perhaps there 
really is a Heaven — and said he didn’t want that, 
but it had to do with money, and there wasn’t any 
man he could trust — and would I r He said I was 
to read what he had written in the leather case he 
had given me and try to do what he couldn’t get the 
chance of doing now, because it was the one thing 
he cared for now, and the old man had been very 
good to him. 

I was just trying to tell him that he could trust 
me, so that he could be sure it would be all right, 
when a man came down the stairway and stood just 
inside the door looking round him. It was Mendel. 
Last he turned towards our table, and he saw my 
Jim. He smiled and just nodded. Jim caught his 
eye and nodded back and then he turned to me. 

“ He’s on time,” he said. “ He’s come for me.” 
He got up from the table while he was saying it. 
“ I expect it means good-bye now, Kitty, for good 
and all. You won’t forget ? The old man was 
very good to me.” 

I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even cry. 1 
could only nod my head to show 1 understood. 

He was just turning to go when he stopped and 
smiled again and bent over the table towards me. 
“ It means twenty years for me, Kitty. I should 
like to kiss you. Last chance I am ever likely to 
get.” 

I held up my face towards him and he kissed me 
on the lips — and — I shan’t ever forget, and I would 
sooner die now than let any 


KITTY’S NARRATIVE 


99 


I can’t write what I want to, because it upsets 
me too much — and I am not strong like 1 used 
to be. 

He stood up very straight after he had kissed me, 
and he took the glass — my glass — and he turned 
round to all the people who were sitting there ; it 
was very full and most of the girls knew him. He 
lifted up the glass and he said out loud : “ Ladies 
and gentlemen, to our next merry meeting.” Then 
he beckoned to my waiter, and slipped him a twenty- 
dollar bill and told him he could keep the change. 
And then he walked up to the lieutenant and took 
his arm — and I shan’t never see him again — never, 
never again. 

1 couldn’t go back to that — to Mrs. Hugo’s, I 
mean, after that, so I hung it up there till the place 
closed, and then I walked about till I was tired out, 
and at last I found I was on Union Square, and I sat 
down on one of the benches till daylight came. 
There was a big arc light close by, so that I could 
see to read if I bent forward. I read what he had 
written, and all of it. I cried over it because there 
was no one could see me. I was at the end of the 
bench, opposite the big central flower-bed : they 
had some sort of red flowers there then, and they 
looked just like blood as the grey morning light 
came creeping over them. It wasn’t very cold, but 
it rained a little. I was under a big locust tree that 
sheltered me and kept the light off my face if I 
leaned back, and I could cry just as if I was a girl 
again. 

There was a working-man next to me, an old man 
with a chin beard that was half black and half 
white. He was the only person could see me at all. 


100 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


He was decent, like a working-man always is to a 
girl — not like those others. I didn’t know he was 
watching me, only suddenly he put his hand on my 
arm. I was bending over sideways, crying as softly 
as I could. “ Don’t you cry, my lass,” he said 
suddenly, but quite low, so the others on the bench 
couldn’t hear him. 

I sat up and stared at him. He must have 
thought I was crazy, I expect. 

“ Don’t you cry, my lass,” he said again in a 
funny sort of soft accent that I hadn’t ever heard 
before. “ The devil is king in New York, and if 
you cry it pleases him.” 

There was something in his voice, so old and 
hopeless it sounded, and yet so sterr>, that made me 
want to cry all the more. It made me feel what it 
might have been if my father hadn’t died, and before 
I knew what I was doing I was crying on his 
shoulder and he was hushing me just like you 
might a baby. He called me his poor lassie. I had 
on my pale blue silk with the crochet insertion and 
the Tagal hat with the green plume that Barney 
Weilman gave me. He was all in rags nearly. 
We must have looked a funny couple. He was a 
very good man. 

When it was quite light he got up to go away. 
He was looking for work, he said. His face looked 
so old and so tired in the morning light that I 
thought I might ask him to have some breakfast 
with me. He wouldn’t at first, but I begged and 
begged, and at last he said he would, but only if 1 
could really afford it. I opened the leather case that 
my dear love had given me — I may call him that 
now because he will never know. I don’t know 


KITTY’S NARRATIVE 


101 


what made me do it, but the first thing that came 
out was the wad of British bank-notes he wrote 
about — I hadn’t noticed them before. I unrolled 
them without thinking. They were worth hundreds 
and hundreds of dollars. The old man saw them 
before I did, and he put out his great hand that was 
all lined and seamed with work, as if he wanted to 
push them away, and he said : “ For the Lord’s sake, 
don’t show them here, my lass.” 

We went to one of the Hartford lunch places ; it 
was on Thirteenth Street, I think, and because I was 
very lonely and didn’t know what to do for the 
best, I told him about the wallet. I shouldn’t ever 
forget that if I lived till Jim comes out, because he 
had his mouth open all the time I was talking to 
him, and he kept on dropping pieces of corned beef 
hash into it without thinking. I wanted to laugh 
and I couldn’t. 

After we had finished we went back and sat on 
the same bench again. It was about the time the 
business-houses open, and there were thousands 
and thousands of girls and young men coming up 
from the subways and on the street-cars, and they 
all had somewhere to go to and we had nowhere. 
And Mr. Craig — he was from Portadown, in Ireland, 
he told me — and he was a fitter, only I didn’t know 
what that meant. He said he had been out of work 
a long time, and he didn’t suppose he would ever 
get any again because he was so old. He told me 
that in the lunch place, and where he lived, when I 
asked him, because you never know, in case I should 
hear of anything. It was in East Hamilton Street, 
No. 2,147. I wrote it down, because he looked so 
terribly anxious, and I thought it might comfort 


102 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


him to think some one was trying to help him, 
because I know what it is. And oh, Miss 
L’Estrange, I didn’t suppose you would know of 
anything, but if you should, he is a very good 
man. 

All the time we were sitting on the bench after 
breakfast he was thinking. And at last he said : 
“ My lass, I am not the one to be telling you what 
you ought to do.” 

Then 1 told him that he please must, because 
there wasn’t any hope of my being able to find the 
young lady, and 1 was afraid to have all that money 
about me. I couldn’t tell him, of course, about them 
who would be looking for me everywhere by that 
time, and if they found me it was good-bye to the 
money. He thought some more then. He always 
had his mouth open when he was thinking. 

“ I know the lure of gold,” he said. “ You have 
twenty-five hundred dollars in your pouch that were 
given you for another, and you are an honest lass. 
It would be better to place it in the hands of some- 
one you can trust, to see that it comes to the hands of 
those it is meant for. For we are taught that we 
should flee from temptation, and great is the power 
of Satan in this his city of New York.” 

“ I knew it was true, because, however much a girl 
may want to do right, there may always come a time 
when she can’t, and the first thing 1 thought of was 
to ask him if he wouldn’t take the money to Miss 
Seaton. I could see that he was a very good man, 
and it would be safe with him. 

He threw out his hand just like he did before, and 
he said something about, “ Get thee behind me, 
Satan.” And then he got up from the bench, and 


KITTY’S NARRATIVE 


108 


he said : “ I am a man that Is turned of sixty, and I 
have a son of my old age that is dying of what they 
call a decline, over there on the East Side.” He 
gave a sort of funny little sob, and I could see that 
he was trembling all over. “ The doctors say that 
his life might be saved.” He stood thinking, and 
his face was all twitching. “ They say a hundred 
dollars might save his life.” Then he shook my 
hand suddenly and said : ‘‘ The Lord prosper you, 
my lassie, and keep you in His care.” And then he 
turned away quickly, and he quite ran across the 
square as if he thought the Devil really was after 
him. 

It wanted a quarter of ten when he went away, 
and as I was afraid to go anywhere up town for fear 
they should see me, I thought I would call at Mrs. 
Ferrati’s, where I have my letters addressed from 
the people where baby lives with, in Paterson. 
They are very religious, and they think I work in 
a dressmaker’s in Brooklyn. They are very kind to 
baby, and I only have to pay eight dollars a month, 
so I can put up with not seeing her very often. I 
have always wanted to live just long enough to 
save up something for her before I die so she won’t 
have to go through what her mother did. She 
needn’t ever know — about me, I mean. She would 
think I made it in the dressmaking. Only I’m afraid 
I shan’t ever be able to, because my health isn’t very 
good now. Baby is fourteen months, and such a 
beauty you can’t think. 

It had made me feel better, talking to Mr. Craig. 
Sometimes when you are very unhappy you feel 
like you were the only person things go so bad with 
In all the world. I don’t suppose a good girl would 


104 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


ever be glad that other people had their troubles 
too, but it did cheer me up, the company of it. I 
was still thinking of him when 1 found that I was 
in Second Avenue. 

“ A letter — a for you-a to-day-a,” Mrs. Ferrati 
said, as soon as I went into the store. She is very 
fat, quite enormously fat, so that 1 often wonder if 
she could get through the front door of the little 
store if she ever wanted to. I don’t suppose she 
ever does. I have never seen her outside of it. 
She is a very kind woman, and she has a smile that 
seems to go all over her. 

She had put the letter in the pocket of her skirt, 
and it took her some time to find it, and she kept 
smiling all the time and made me feel quite warm 
and happy. Some people can make you feel like 
that. “ And how is my little Bimba to-day-a ? ” she 
asked as she gave it to me. 

She always asks after baby and calls her that, 
though she has never seen her, because I told her 
about her once and what a beauty she is. She is 
very fond of children. She has had twelve herself, 
and all of them dead but one, who is in a coal 
mine. I should have liked her to have had baby 
herself, because then I might have seen her more 
often, only the store is so dirty and smells so, and 
Mrs. Ferrati isn’t very clean either. 

I thought I should have dropped when I opened 
the letter and read it. I couldn’t say a word to 
Mrs. Ferrati, who was smiling away all the time. 
I just walked out into the street, and if I hadn’t 
happened to have a flask of rye in my muff I expect 
I should have fainted. It was from the lady herself 
to say that I owed nine dollars with extras or twelve 


KITTY’S NARRATIVE 


105 


altogether, and would I come at once and pay her, 
because she didn’t want to keep baby any more. It 
was quite different to some she had written, short 
and — and different somehow. I could see — though 
she didn’t say so — that she must have heard some- 
thing, or p-erhaps some one had been up in the 
Tenderloin at night and seen me. I made sure of 
that, because she said I owed her twelve dollars, 
and it was only four really — two weeks. 1 had 
always been afraid it might happen. 

When I could think again 1 could see the only 
thing to do was to go over and pay the money and 
take baby away. I knew Mrs. Ferrati would let 
me leave her there for a bit, till 1 could look round. 
I was terrified thinking of all the things the lady 
might do if I didn’t pay her at once, and perhaps 
get baby taken away from me for ever. Or perhaps 
I thought she had got to hear of my being in Mrs. 
Hugo’s house, and she might send baby there, and 
that would be worse still. But I hadn’t got one 
dollar left of my own, let alone twelve, and if I went 
back, as I had sworn I wouldn’t ever do again after 
Jim kissed me, she wouldn’t give it to me as like as 
not, let alone that she would half kill me for not 
having gone back before. And then I thought of 
the money the old gentleman had given Jim for 
Miss Seaton. 

I was in East Houston Street when I thought of 
it, and it seemed quite the best thing. If I was only 
to borrow one of the five-pound notes ; that would 
be worth twenty-five dollars, enough to pay Mrs. 
Breinstone and something over to pay Mrs. Ferrati 
while I was finding another place for baby. There 
wasn’t any mention in what the old gentleman had 


106 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


written of how much it was, so no one need never 
know, and when things went better with me I could 
pay it back again. 

It all seemed so easy that I went and sat down in 
Hamilton Fish Park and got one of the notes out 
of the wallet when no one was watching me, and 
slipped it into my stocking until I could find a place 
where they change money for you. I found a loan 
office on Third Avenue where they did, and I was 
just going in when I happened to see a piece of the 
Journal that some one had thrown away. It was 
on the sidewalk, just in front of the door, and I 
happened to look down as I stepped over it, and 
there was my Jim’s face smiling up at me out of it. 


CHAPTER XII 

I HAD to take another nip of my flask ; it gave me 
such a turn. Then I picked up the paper and it 
was all full with Jim. Somehow I hadn’t thought 
it would get into the papers so soon. It was a very 
good picture of him, looking so handsome and with 
just his smile. I had never seen a picture of him 
before, and I just kissed it right there on the street, 
not caring how muddy it was. 

It was murder they were holding him for. I 
couldn’t quite make it out at first, because it was all 
torn and dirty, but I got a later edition afterwards. 
It seems they had taken him in the act of trying to 
steal the lady’s jewels at the Astor. He would have 
got them too, I know he would, if it hadn’t been 
for bad luck. Then afterwards they recognised him 
for a man they were looking for, for getting money 
from some man in Paris only a few weeks ago, and 
shooting a man in the Middle West whose wife he 
was running away with six or seven years back, and 
several other things. 

They said he was a typical British aristocrat and 
the last heir of a great English family that could 
have been lords time after time if only they had 
wanted to. I was so proud to read that about him, 
because I hadn’t known it before, though you only 
had to see him to know it was true. They called 


108 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


him a King of Crime in the headlines, and some- 
where else they said that he was the uncrowned 
King of Bunco-Steerers. I always did think he was 
just like what a king must be and always the best 
at whatever he did, and I was so proud to think 
how he had trusted me. They said he was 
amazingly versatile, and that made me glad too, 
to see how every one admired him. 

Of course, I saw at once that I couldn’t take that 
money and that the paper had been sent to me as a 
warning. And then, not a minute after, I thought 
of Miss L’Estrange, and I could see my way 
clear. 

It was their calling my Jim a king must have put 
it into my head, because often and often I thought 
she was like a queen, like the fairy queen in a real 
panto that wasn’t only acted. 1 think she is the 
most beautiful woman that ever lived. Such a 
sweet, grave face — proud too — it’s wonderful the 
way she holds her head, as if there wasn’t anybody 
in the world worth thinking about, not as if she 
thought it I don’t mean, but just because they didn’t 
enter her head. She had such beautiful grey eyes, 
with dark lashes that curve up, and a look in them 
as if she had been through a lot of trouble and it 
hadn’t hardened her — only made her sweeter and 
graver. I could sit and look at her for hours ; it 
used to make me feel that 1 might have been good 
myself if only things had been different. And her 
voice — why they say nowadays that there isn’t such 
a voice as she has anywhere else in the world. I 
heard her sing once — she sang for a charity over on 
the East Side — and I had to go away, it made me 
cry so. 


KITTY’S NARRATIVE 


109 


I first knew her — to speak to — two years ago. 
It, was when I was trying to get away from Mrs. 
Hugo’s for the first time. A girl I knew had told 
me about working for the movies, and how you 
might make quite a decent living out of it if only 
you could get started. I knew a man who had 
influence, and I got taken on for a bit by the 
Schutzenheim Company. They paid very well. 
Three dollars a day, I got — and others more, that 
had experience. It was hard work, though. You 
had to be over at their place, on the New Jersey 
side, by half-past seven in the morning and often 
you didn’t get away till seven or eight at night. I 
didn’t mind that : I was never the one to be afraid 
of hard work, so long as I could keep out of the 
way of them I knew would be looking for me, until 
I could save enough to get Baby and me out of 
New York altogether. 

We were a mixed-up lot, most of us down-and- 
outers, and some of the women like me, but one 
morning on the ferry I saw just the most beautiful 
face I had ever seen. I was late that morning, just 
missed the ferry by half a minute — you know how 
it is sometimes — and had to wait a quarter of an 
hour. She was leaning over the side of the upper 
deck looking up the river towards Peekskill. It 
is a pretty sight on a morning when you have 
the heart to look at it. I thought she looked 
unhappy, and wished I had the pluck to speak to 
her. 

She must have felt my eyes on her, because 
suddenly she looked round and smiled, as if she 
knew I wanted to speak to her. I was so con- 
fused that I just turned round and walked away. 


110 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


I was angry with myself for being such a fool 
afterwards. 

I was afraid that as I was late they mightn’t send 
the auto back, as they didn’t always — because that 
would have meant walking two miles to their studio, 
that was out in the woods towards Hilledge. It 
was there though, just got back from the last trip. 
Very decent the Schutzenheims always treat their 
people. Even used to give us a free lunch at the 
inn there — with a bottle of beer if you wanted it. 1 
can’t tell you how glad I was when she got in, 
though even then 1 couldn’t believe that she was 
one of us. I heard about it afterwards, though. 
She wasn’t so well known as she is now — and it is 
very difficult to get engagements unless you make 
up to the agents — and she had been resting for a 
long time. She had a worthless brute of a husband 
to keep, too, that would only drink and smoke 
instead of working for her — you know the sort. 
And so she had taken another name and was 
doing picture work, just like any common girl 
might do, until something better turned up for 
her. 

They were doing a drama scene that week. It 
was called “ The Gambler’s Wife,” and there was a 
scene in it where a little kiddy is starving in the 
woods and two angels come and take him up to 
heaven. I was to be one of the angels, and you 
can’t think how proud and happy I was when I 
found she was to be the other. The girl before her 
had turned up in drink, so they couldn’t let her 
play it of course. She looked perfectly beautiful in 
her long white robe — almost like a nightie only with 
a gold belt and crossover, and her hair — it was all 


KITTY’S NARRATIVE 


111 


her own hair, all loose about her shoulders, nearly 
down to her knees, and a star on her forehead and 
two great golden wings behind her. Even when 
she was made up all yellow, which you must do for 
picture work, because red always comes out black, 
it couldn’t make her a bit less sweet. I was such a 
fright I used to laugh at myself for minutes at a 
time. I was feeling good that week, and 1 didn’t 
mind anything. 

The ladies’ dressing-room was only a corner of 
the shack they called the studio, with one little bit 
of broken mirror for the six of us principals ; but 
she never grumbled once, though, if you heard the 
things some of us said, you’d have thought we lived 
in duchesses’ palaces all our lives. She was always 
like that. When it came to drawing your money 
on the Friday, they put the pay-table out in the 
meadow and made us line up at it, just like work- 
ing-men in a factory ; and, of course, they kept the 
ladies waiting till the last ; and I begged her to sit 
down on the grass, because she was looking so tired, 
and let me draw hers for her. She gave me such a 
smile ; but she wouldn’t hear of it. 

She was so different from the rest of us that all 
the men got sweet on her at once ; and a nice lot 
they were. They used to show off before her like 
a lot of second-hand monkeys in a cheap menagerie. 
Even old Schutzenheim himself took notice of her — 
used to explain how the pictures were taken, and 
all that. But she never had so much as a word 
for any of them. Not rude, I don’t mean that — 
she was always the lady ; but it was just as if she 
didn’t see they were there. It’s a funny thing, but 
I do believe she was fond of that husband of hers, 


112 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


brute though he was. I saw him once ; he came 
over to meet her, at the Jersey end of the ferry. 

Fine-looking man — might have been a He 

was different, somehow. I have read since, in the 
papers, that he was a lord, or something like that. 
If it was that, it would account for it ; though I 
don’t know for sure. The time I saw him he was 
rearing right up on end with jealousy — mad because 
she came down in the auto, and there were four 
men in it besides us. Rather she had walked all 
the way, 1 suppose. 

I have always been glad I plucked up my courage 
to have a talk with her. It was on the Saturday, 
and they had kept us very late because the light was 
good. It was us two angels that they wanted 
specially, and we had to go off in the auto a couple 
of miles in the woods, by the Palisades, to a place 
Lazarus, the producer, had found would make a 
good background. She was very tired when it was 
finished ; the kiddy that was doing the kiddy had 
been very fractious, and she had been hushing him. 
She hasn’t got a baby, amd I have ; but I lost 
patience with him very quickly. She didn’t. She 
just comforted him up as I don’t suppose his own 
mother would have done, if he had one — a little 
Yiddisher boy he was ; and he would do anything 
for her before she had done with him. It was 
always like that with her. She let me do her hair 
for her when we got back. Such beautiful hair ! — 
not black, but a darkish brown with a sort of red- 
goldy light in it. I can remember the feel of it, as 
it ran through my fingers, now. 

It was going back on the ferry that I got up the 
courage to speak to her. 


KITTY’S NARRATIVE 


113 


“ Miss Edwards,” I said, “ Fm so glad we’ve 
met.” 

She smiled at that. She had the sort of smile 
that you don’t see at once and that just leaps out at 
you suddenly. “ It is very kind of you to say so,” 
she said. 

That was silly, of course — the idea of my being 
kind to her, I mean. I’d have done anything for 
her ; almost as much as I would for Jim, only 
different. 

“ I’ve always wanted to ask you,” I said, taking 
the plunge before I should have time to stop my- 
self : “ Your name isn’t really Miss Edwards, is 
it ^ ” 

I could see that it was just a toss-up whether she 
would smile or be angry. She smiled at last. 

“ What makes you think it is not ^ ” she said. 

“ I don’t know.” And I didn’t. “ It doesn’t 
seem to suit you, somehow.” 

That seemed really to amuse her. “ It isn’t my 

real name,” she said. I am really Mrs. ” And 

then she told me the name. I can scarcely believe 
it myself, but somehow I have mixed it up. I know 
the first name was Basil, because I thought it was 
pretty and suited her, somehow. And I think the 
next was Talbot, or it may have been Tarbutt. I 
know her singing name was L’Estrange — Inez 
L’Estrange. I shouldn’t ever forget that. I didn’t 
like it much. I thought it was like the names you 
read in a dime novel ; but, of course, I didn’t tell her 
that. She told me that she was a singer too — at 
concerts. And she said she hoped we might be 
friends. She really did, though she must have seen 
the sort of girl I was. 


8 


114 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


It was the very next day that they got hold of me 
again — the Sunday. I had taken a hall-room up on 
Convent Avenue, where I didn’t think they’d look 
for me, and that was convenient for the ferry. 1 was 
just running over to the corner saloon to fetch my 
dinner ale. Just as I was going into the family 
entrance, where you have to go of a Sunday, there 
was Dago Frank, one of Mrs. Hugo’s runners. He 
was watching out for me. I think one of the girls 
must have put them wise — one of the movy girls, I 
mean. Before 1 could scream or anything, he had 
me in a cab he had waiting ; and he half choked 
me till I kept quiet. I had borrowed a blue enamel 
pitcher from the lady of the house to fetch the ale 
in. It went into the cab with me, and I was never 
able to give it her back. 

Mrs. Hugo more than half killed me when she saw 
me. I knew it wasn’t a bit of good standing up to 
her, because she is one of them who are run by 
Alderman M‘Ginnery, so you have the police looking 
out for you as well as her runners. I did let a hat- 
pin two inches into Lefty Jake, her husband, as she 
calls him ; but she said she would break the spirit 
in me, and I suppose she has. 

I read several times about Miss L’Estrange since 
then. She parted from her husband, I heard. It 
must have been him that kept her back, because after 
that she did wonderfully. I did hear that he had 
killed himself. It was what I had prayed for ever 
since I heard about him, and I thanked God when I 
heard it, though I don’t suppose what I prayed made 
any difference to him. 

I am writing this in the back of Mrs. Ferrati’s 
store. She has been so kind to me, you can’t think. 


KITTY’S NARRATIVE 


115 


When she saw I was in trouble she said I could stay 
as long as I liked, sleep if I wanted to. I went back 
and asked if I might rest there because I hadn’t any- 
where else to go, and I was feeling so faint. She 
made me share their dinner. It was horrible — all 
grease and tomatoes, and bits of stale fish — but she 
meant it so kindly. Her husband is mad — he never 
speaks to anyone all day, but sits frowning at the 
table and groaning. He is very old — years older 
than she is. She told me that he gave up his life in 
trying to unite Italy when he was quite young, and 
he has never been happy since it was united, because 
he has nothing else to live for. I don’t know what 
it all meant, but that is what she told me. Her son 
works in the coal-mines in Pennsylvania. She is 
always talking about him. It is a good thing as it 
happens, because I don’t have to say anything, only 
nod, and I can go on writing. 

I have thought it all out what I am going to do. 
Miss L’Estrange is singing at a concert at the 
Carnegie Hall to-night. I am going to wrap all this 
up in a parcel and leave it for her at the stage-door, 
and wait about until I can be sure she gets it. I 
shan’t try to speak to you, because I don’t suppose 
you would like to be seen with a girl like me speaking 
to you. 

She has a beautiful auto of her own now. I have 
seen you three times driving on Broadway in it, 
though you didn’t see me, and I felt so happy to 
see how well you are doing. 

I have been trying to figure on what Jim would 
think best of me for doing. I shan’t go back to 
Mrs. Hugo’s unless they make me. I know she 
wouldn’t let me have the money. She says that I 


116 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


owe more for my clothes and things already than I 
could ever pay her back if I lived to be a hundred. 
She has threatened to put me in prison for it 
dozens and-'dozens of times, when I haven’t made 
enough. I have been praying to God, and perhaps 
if He doesn’t mind He will manage it so that I can 
get the money together some other way, and take 
baby away somewhere where they won’t know what 
I was, and perhaps when I am stronger get work in 
a laundry. It was in a Catholic church that 1 
prayed — in Mott Street. It was a nice church — I 
could pray easily. It was nearly dark, and there 
was a beautiful statue of a lady in blue with lights 
before it. I prayed to her, too, because I thought 
the face was like yours something, just the same 
kind smile, as if she understood. I am not the sort 
that goes much to churches — I should only disgrace 
them, but you never know. I was reading some- 
where — in the Journal I think it was — that if you 
truly repent much will be forgiven to you. And, 
oh, I do want to do what would make my Jim 
think well of me if he knew. 

Oh, my dear Miss L’Estrange, if things don’t go 
right with me — and you never know in New York. 
I am only a wretched girl, but she is my baby, and 
— and — if only you wouldn’t mind, as soon as you 
can find time, because I know how busy you must 
be — sending to 2,185, Orange Street, Paterson, 
New Jersey, Mrs. Breinstone the name is — and if I 
haven’t been to fetch my baby it will be because I 
can’t — she said she would kill me next time, and 
she meant it too. I am only a wretched girl, and 
it needn’t cost you more than two dollars a week to 
have her looked after well. And I know when she 


KITTY’S NARRATIVE 


117 


grows up she would work to pay it back — -and I 
haven’t nobody that I can’t ask except you. If 
only you wouldn’t think ill of me for asking. 


PART IV 


MISS L’ESTRANGFS NARRATIVE 
CHAPTER XIII 

It was by a sheer accident that I happened to be 
in Broadway at all. I had promised to fetch little 
Pattie Beaumont and to take her up to the concert- 
hall with me. The poor kid was wretchedly 
nervous. It was almost her first chance since she 
got back from Berlin, and of course it meant a lot 
to her. But for her I should have probably 
excused myself. Mrs. Van Noorden is an excellent 
woman, and her Bowery Mission is a very worthy 
charity, I have no doubt, but the charity concert 
begins to pall upon me. Wherever charity begins, 
I begin to think it ought to end before rushing 
about Manhattan on a greasy night, with the chance 
of losing your voice altogether. It isn’t as if it 
meant any difference to the Mission. All the seats 
would be sold out in any case, not to people who 
wished to hear me, or anybody else sing, but who 
think it may give them a chance of getting into the 
Van Noorden set — which it certainly will not. 

Pattie has a nice little apartment on West 
Twenty-seventh, between Fifth and Broadway. I 


MISS L’ESTRANGE’S NARRATIVE 119 


found her in hysterics — the poor kid has been over- 
working ridiculously — with her mother, who is 
quite old enough to know better, encouraging her. 
It meant really insulting the old lady before I cojald 
do anything with her daughter. She wasn’t even 
dressed when I got there, and I had to take the 
mother by the shoulders and turn her out of the 
room, and finish the child myself. I was very 
pleased to do it. I can remember what I felt like 
at my own first appearance. She looked really 
sweet when I had finished with her. 

We were already ten minutes late when at last I 
got her away. As a means of cheering her up, I 
suppose, the mother said she was too nervous to 
come at all. She was considerably surprised, I 
expect, when we started off without her and left her 
to come on by herself in a street car. I told Henri 
to drive his fastest, so, naturally, when we were just 
opposite the Opera House the car stopped with a 
jerk. Pattie screamed, and I looked out of the 
window at the risk of my larynx. I was afraid we 
had run over somebody, which would have delayed 
us still more. Ther^ was a huge crowd on the 
sidewalk and spreading half across the roadway. If 
Henri had not been a fine driver he must have 
killed some of them. They made a wonderful 
study of light and shade under the flashing of the 
electric signs overhead — I noticed it even then. 

I couldn’t make out what was the matter at first 
except that there was a lot of jeering and laughing. 
All at once the crowd seemed to lurch forward, so 
that it swarmed all round us, and I could see that it 
was a fight — the usual disgusting business between 
a man and a woman, The woman was dressed in 


120 


HUNT THE SUPPER 


bright blue with a huge plume in her hat. The 
sort of woman you would expect her to be ; her 
face was red, and she looked as if she had been 
drinking. The man was a typical East Side tough, 
with a cloth cap and a striped jersey. He seemed 
sober enough, but he had a cruel, bestial face that 
made one shudder. I leant forward so that Pattie 
could not see him, or it would have been all up 
with her singing that night. The man had hold of 
the woman by one of her wrists, and she was trying 
to get away from him. She seemed half paralysed 
with fright, and she was screaming out at the top of 
her voice, “ Let me go ! Let me go ! ” The man 
seemed to be threatening her below his breath, but 
I could not hear what he said. The crowd was 
jeering and laughing, as the brutes would. There 
was a big negro close beside the car. There was 
some purple electric flash-sign above us. It fell on 
his face and made his teeth seem all purple when he 
grinned. It was quite horrible. For a moment I 
wished Basil was there. He was big at least. Of 
course, there was no policeman in sight. 

“ Why don’t we go on ? ” whispered Pattie. I 
had hold of her arm in case she might try to jump 
out or something equally silly. When a girl is on 
the verge of hysterics you never know what she 
will do next. 

I leaned right out of the window in the hope that 
Henri would hear me. “ Go on,” I told him. 
“ We are late already.” 

He half turned in his seat and said something, 
but I could not hear what it was. The crowd was 
too noisy. Leaning out as I did my face came into 
the light. The woman was not five yards from me. 


MISS LESTRANGE’S NARRATIVE 121 


and all at once she caught sight of me. I wonder 
she recognised me, my face must have seemed 
striped like a zebra, with every colour of the rain- 
bow. They call it the ‘ Great White Way,’ I know, 
but I could never understand why. The ‘ Chromatic 
Fantasy ’ would be a better name for it. 

As she caught sight of my face the woman made 
a sudden leap forward that brought her right up to 
the step, dragging the man after her. She called 
me by my name with the most surprising leap of 
joy into her eyes. I did not know in the least who 
she was, but evidently she knew me. The man was 
trying to pull her back all the time. “ Don’t be 
scared,” he said to me with an evil grin. “ She’s 
drunk, that’s all.” 

“ I’m not drunk,” the woman cried. “ I’m not. 
Oh, Miss L’Estrange. Oh, please. Miss L’Estrange.” 
She leaped right on to the step so that her head 
was halfway in through the window. She threw a 
parcel, wrapped up in old newspaper, into the car. 
“ It’s for you ! ” she screamed. “ Read it. It’s 
yours. It’s for you.” 

The whole thing was like a nightmare — the 
horrible painted face thrust in at the window, all 
lit up with the reflection through the opposite side, 
the man trying to pull her back, the faces of the 
crowd beyond, leering and grinning, lit up one 
moment and the next all dark. Then suddenly it 
all vanished ; the man jerked her back so that she 
nearly fell, the car started again, and the next 
moment there was no woman and no man and no 
crowd, only the vague flitting by of lights and 
vehicles and people. 

I had to give all my attention to poor little Pattie. 


122 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


I am inclined to be proud when 1 think that I 
reduced her to sanity in the time it takes a fast auto 
to travel from Thirty-fifth Street to the Carnegie 
Hall. I did it, though, and she sang charmingly, 
thanks to the dope I gave her just before she went 
on. I really believe she got louder applause than I 
did. Naturally, I had no time to look at the news- 
paper parcel then, or afterwards, for we all went on 
to supper at Sherry’s with the Van Noordens. I 
did not forget it, though, and the next morning I 
read it in bed. 

It took a long time to get it sorted out into some 
sort of sense, and even then it nearly tore the eyes 
out of my head, especially what the girl had written, 
it was so smudged and blotted. I found it inter- 
ested me a good deal, and I telephoned to put off 
the Cruegers and had my lunch brought up to me 
in bed. 

I pride myself on having a good memory, but 
I had quite forgotten the poor girl. I had a vague 
remembrance of having talked to one of them at 
that horrible time, but I could not remember her 
name or even what she looked like. I had a painful 
sort of interest in what the poor creature had 
written, because she is so exactly what I might have 
been if my father had not been a drunken bully 
who used to beat my mother. I suppose I was 
a precocious child ; I remember I used to study 
him from the outside point of view without any 
kind of feeling that 1 can remember. 1 got my first 
impression of the kind of creatures men are from 
him, and I have never found any reason to change it 
since. I expect the leading Leamington tradesman 
used to treat his wife well before he suffered re- 


MISS L’ESTRANGE’S NARRATIVE 123 


verses, and so his daughter trusted the first black- 
guard that came her way. 

To hear that Ivo Talboys was in New York was 
interesting, too. I only met him once or twice in 
London, and I remember thinking what a nice boy 
he was. A sort of reduced edition of poor Basil in 
every way I thought him ; not quite so big and not 
quite so witty and not quite so conceited and not 
quite so lazy and not quite so weak. I supposed of 
course that he had come over to pick up a rich wife. 
I was sorry to think so. With all his faults Basil 
would never have stooped to that. Of course, I 
thought his quite detestable sister had arranged the 
trip for him. I shall not forget that woman in a 
hurry. 

It pained me to see what was the general mob- 
opinion of Basil. It was quite unfair, of course ; 
he was really not a bad sort for a man, decidedly 
above the average, I should say. He was one of 
the sweetest tempered people 1 ever met ; his 
manners were always charming, with just that 
little touch of homage that a woman always likes, 
even if she is his wife. He was good-natured even 
when he had been drinking, and he was always 
generous, even when it was with my money. If he 
had only had an income, secured for him under 
trustees so that he could not borrow in advance of 
it, and they had put a sovereign on his breakfast-table 
every morning for his pocket-money, and kept the 
rest to pay his expenses with, without his having 
anything to do with it, he would have been almost 
ideal, as men go. If he had ever had a penny to 
start with he might have become quite a fine 
character. It was quite as much my fault as his that 


124 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


he got into the way of sponging on me, because 
I found it too much trouble to refuse him. He was 
nobody’s enemy except his own — and his wife’s. 
That I shall always believe. I was quite absurdly 
fond of him in some ways, and even that morning 
when I had the actual proof that he had been 
deceiving me with another woman, I believe I 
should have forgiven him if he had asked me. He 
didn’t though. He only shrugged his dear old high 
shoulders and muttered something about its being 
better for me, and lurched away with that funny lop- 
sided walk of his, and I have never seen him since. 
Of course it was much the best thing from every 
point of view, but I was very unhappy about it 
for a long time. I am sometimes, even now, when 
I let myself think about it. There isn’t another 
man in the world quite like him, for all his faults. 
As to his being dead, that is absurd. He is not at 
all the sort of person to die. I should have known 
it too, if he had been. I was quite fond enough of 
him for that. I believe he started the story about 
his having committed suicide himself. It is so 
exactly what he would have done, with some sort 
of fantastic idea of giving me my freedom without 
suffering too much himself. I often wonder what 
has become of the poor old boy and hope he hasn’t 
gone off with that other woman — for both their 
sakes. 

I have never found that lying in bed and 
thinking about things is the best way to get them 
done, though that was rather Basil’s philosophy ot 
life. I put him away into the background and rang 
up Charley Lurgan on the ’phone. He is the 
lawyer to one of the big Trusts and has a big 


MISS L’ESTRANGE’S NARRATIVE 125 


political connection, so I thought he might be able to 
tell me the best way to help the unhappy Kitty 
Something. I wasn’t very hopeful though, and 
with some reason. 

“ Not a bit of good, my dear lady,” he drawled, 
in the offensive manner he always adopts to women. 

“ And why not ^ ” I asked, my bristles rising 
already. 

“ Because, judging from what you tell me, 
Goliath stands in the way. Surely you know all 
about Alderman M‘Ginnery. 1 thought everyone 
did.” 

“ I have always understood that David killed 
Goliath.” 

“ David didn’t live in New York. If he did he 
would be asking Goliath’s good word in ward 
politics.” 

“ I’m not joking,” I hissed. The telephone is 
an excellent medium for expressing scorn. 

Neither am I.” I could feel that the brute 
was laughing. “ Listen here. Miss L’Estrange. 
The Alderman has got Albany in his hand and New 
York in his pocket. He keeps the police in the 
lining of his hat and the press in his cigar-case. 
He owns twenty-five of the brightest ” Some- 

thing began to bubble on the wire for a moment 
and I could not hear what he was saying. “ Say, 
did you ever hear of Birdy McGee ? ” were the 
next words I could distinguish. 

“ And I don’t want to,” I assured him. It made 
no difference. 

Birdy McGee,” went on the cold drawl, “ is a 
particular friend to M’Ginnery. His wife used to 
be M‘Ginnery’s sister, but since M‘Ginnery pros- 


126 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


pered they think it better that she should be only a 
distant relative. In March last, Birdy shot down 
three men — friends of Turk Bailey, whom you 
don’t know — but who is not a friend of M‘Ginnery. 
He shot them out of a taxi, on East 129th Street, 
at two in the afternoon. Fifty people saw him do 
it. He was jailed and brought to trial. He didn’t 
deny it. He was proud of it. The magistrate 
acquitted him.” 

‘‘ What has all that got to do with it ^ ” I 
asked, not for information, but because I was 
thinking what to say next. 

“ Only that even the most beautiful lady in New 
York can’t fight a cloud with a pitchfork.” 

“ Can’t she ? We will see about that. Mr. 
Lurgan — are you going to help me ^ ” 

“ Anything else in the world. But I am no good 
at pitchforks.” 

“ I will pay you — well.” 

I thought that might stir him into some imitation 
of manhood, but it did not. “ Are you richer than 
New York State ^ ” 

“ I am very much more in earnest.” 

“ Do you know how long it is until the 
Presidential Election ^ ” 

“ What has that got to do with it ^ ” 

“ The country can’t get along without 
M‘Ginnery.” 

‘‘ Will you help me ? ” 

“ M‘Ginnery is a personal friend of the German 
Emperor.” 

“ Will you help me ? ” 

‘‘ He has the finest house in Ireland. He owns 
the finest steam-yacht in America. He has won the 


MISS L’ESTRANGE’S NARRATIVE 127 


Derby twice. He is the largest shareholder in the 
Pontifex Distillery Company.” 

“ Which you act for, don’t you ? ” 

“ For that and my bread-and-butter. Which 

reminds me. Will you come and dine ” 

I rang off, leaving the characteristic specimen of 
his sex to attend to his — or the Alderman’s business. 
1 was annoyed, but I certainly was not surprised. 
I have never met a man, earning more than twenty 
per, who was superior to the ideals of his own 
stomach. 

My problem was certainly a hard one. I was 
due to leave New York for Chicago within twenty- 
four hours. There was no possibility of putting it 
off, and the date of my return was quite uncertain. 
If I wanted Alderman M‘Ginnery routed and Kitty 
Somebody rescued and her baby cared for, and the 
old General’s message delivered, it was clear I must 
find someone to do it for me. I could think of no 
one. And just at that moment Marie came into 
the room and said that Mr. Talboys wished to 
see me. 


CHAPTER XIV 


I WAS out of bed and into my kimono in something 
less than a second. It was idiotic of me, but for 
the moment I had quite forgotten there was more 
than one Mr. Talboys. “ Bring him up, idiot,” I 
cried. “ How dare you keep him waiting ! ” 

Marie has only been with me for three weeks. 
She stared at me and departed hurriedly. I had no 
time to do my hair ; I had scarcely even looked at 
my face in the glass before she came back. ‘‘ Mr. 
Talboys,” she announced. 

‘‘ My darling old Basil,” I burst out. And then 
I saw what if I had had the faintest shadow of 
common sense, I should have known all the time. 
It wasn’t Basil at all. 

I had the door slammed in his face before his 
eyes had time to grow round. Next minute I 
opened it again and handed him the girl’s wallet 
round it. “ Sit down and read that,” I told him. 
“ Don’t move until you have finished it.” 

I heard a sort of astonished grunt that somehow 
made me think of a baby sea-lion I had seen up at 
the Bronx Zoo only a day or two before. 

“ Take it ! ” I said sharply. Can’t you hear ? ” 
I felt the wallet taken out of my hand. “ Oh — 
very well,” came the sort of groan I knew so well. 
And then, a shade more graciously, “ Right you 


MISS L’ESTRANGE’S NARRATIVE 129 


are,” and I heard an arm-chair squeak as he flopped 
into it. 

He must have skipped conscientiously, for when 
I was ready — and I certainly was not more than 
half an hour — I found he had already got to Kitty 
Something’s share of it. He jumped up as I came 
in, untwisting his legs as his brothers always did. 
“ Not overburdened with brains,” he said. “ Now, 
does that strike you as fair ? ” 

“ Not at all,” I said, “ and I am very glad to see 
you.” And really 1 was. He wasn’t the rose — but 
he was uncommonly like it. 

It was rather absurd, but I found I could not help 
smiling at him. He was on the broad grin too, so 
that the ice broke much sooner than I should have 
expected. “ I suppose you were expecting me,” he 
said at last, tapping the papers he held in his 
hand. 

“ I thought it was just possible,” 1 smiled. “ And 
what has brought you over here ^ ” 

“ Haven’t you read what my friend the burglar 
has to say about it ? ” 

“ Tell me at once. Why did you help him get 
away like that ? It has been puzzling me.” 

He wrinkled the tip of his nose. It was like 
looking at Basil through the wrong end of a tele- 
scope. Even the tricks of manner and the tone of 
the voice were the same. It made everything seem 
unreal. 

“ Was it Miss Hertzenstein ^ ” I insisted. 

“ More or less, of course. Her father was at the 
bottom of it though. He and State Senator West 
are not friends.” 

“ And his daughter ? ” 


9 


130 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


He blushed. Both of them have rather a nice 
trick of blushing. 

As soon as it came out that friend Dayrell had 
amused himself by swindling Senator West’s son, I 
believe the whole Hertzenstein family would have 
kissed him. Miss Elvira was dead nuts on him.” 

‘‘ And you ^ ” 

“ It wasn’t my business one way or the other. 
Personally I rather liked the fellow. Funny thing, 
the way old Fanhope cottoned to him, though. He 
had swell-mobsman written all over him.” 

“ So that was it ^ And did the true knight win 
his lady’s favour.^ ” 

He tapped the lobe of his ear with his right 
fore-finger. “ It’s a little difficult to say. If you 
mean am I engaged to her, I am not — at least I 
don’t think so.” 

‘‘ Don’t you know ^ ” 

“ It’s like this. I promised Alice ” 

“ I know all that.” I did, of course. I have 
always thought his sister quite the most detestable 
woman — of the impeccably virtuous type — that ever 
lived. 

“ I couldn’t have raised the money to get over 
here decently without her. So, as I had promised, 
I thought the best thing would be to get it over at 
once. I knew the father couldn’t stand the sight of 
me. And I couldn’t see any particular reason why 
the daughter should. She could have her pick any- 
where if she liked. So ” 

“ So ” 

He wriggled, as a baby might. “ It — it was 
beastly awkward, as it turned out. It was at night 
— after we had seen the tug off. We walked up 


MISS L’ESTRANGE’S NARRATIVE 131 


and down on deck for a bit. Said she rather liked 
the fog than otherwise. I proposed.” 

“ Ivo ! ” 

“ Yes ; that is just how I felt when I thought of 
it afterwards.” 

“ And she accepted you ? ” 

“ It is all the way they bring girls up nowadays. 
No ; she didn’t accept me. She said she must have 
time to think about it. Said her father had threat- 
ened to disinherit her. And that made her inclined 
to accept me. That was the devil of it, you see, 
because it made it look as if it was only her money 
I was after.” 

“ And weren’t you ? ” 

“ I wasn’t after anything. I only wanted to 
escape. So I had to tell her exactly how things 
stood.” 

“ And she was annoyed ? ” 

“ I am afraid she was rather. Explained to me 
exactly how many kinds of a cad I was. That 
wasn’t the worst of it though, because I quite agreed 
with her about that. But she topped up by formally 
accepting me. Said she would send the news to 
the New York papers as soon as we arrived. Nice 
position, isn’t it ? My only hope is in the 
father.” 

I did my best not to laugh. He relapsed into 

a gloomy silence. “ I suppose you think ” 

he began at last. 

“ 1 think Miss Hertzenstein certainly had the 
laugh of you. And I don’t think you need worry 
your head about it any more.” 

“ Don’t you really ^ ” He brightened up instan- 
taneously. 


132 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


‘‘ I don’t suppose you are the only young man 
she ever met — or even who proposed to her.” 

“ No ; of course not. I couldn’t be — could I ^ 
One of the prettiest girls you ever saw in your life. 
And worth millions. Besides, I’m not the sort a 
girl like that would fall in love with, am I ^ ” 

He was quite in earnest. “ I can’t imagine any 
one falling in love with you,” I told him, quite 
untruthfully. 

“ No. Of course not. I say, you don’t know 
what a load you have taken off my mind. It has 
been worrying me quite a lot.” 

“ And why have you really come over ^ ” I felt 
that it was no good fencing with the question. 

There was no necessity to meet his eye, and 
fortunately one of the hooks at my wrist had come 
unfastened. “ Surely you needn’t ask that,” he said 
complainingly. 

“ In that case, why haven’t you come before ? ” 

“ I couldn’t. You know I couldn’t. Do you 
think I should have wasted a moment if I could. 
Basil was always — oh, well, I needn’t go into that. 
I am rather fond of Basil, as it happens.” 

“ Yet it is over two years ” 

He was growing angry, opening and shutting his 
hands, just as his brother used to. I had no doubt 
he was wiggling his toes at the same time. Basil 
always did, as a sort of safety-valve, I suppose, 
whenever his temper felt like exploding. 

“ My father needs me,” he said, when he had 
worked off enough superfluous energy. “ The poor 
old man — he isn’t happy with Alice.” 

“ I can quite believe it,” I could not help saying. 

“ His mind — well — it is getting weaker all the 


MISS L’ESTRANGE’S NARRATIVE 133 


time. She thinks he ought not to be humoured. I 
don’t agree with her. So he has been living with 
me in Half Moon Street.” 

“ Then why have you come now ? ” 

“ He is fretting so after Basil. He is always 
asking for him. Doesn’t realise how things are. 
Can’t understand why he doesn’t write. I invented 
no end of letters, but he was beginning to get 
suspicious.” 

He was silent, and I could see that he was in the 
grip of some unpleasant memory. 

“ Well ? ” I asked him gently. 

“ It got to such a point at last that there was only 
one thing to be done. I arranged with my old 
nurse — you don’t know her, of course, but she is a 
good old sort. Understands things. She is looking 
after him for a bit. Down in Surrey. He thinks 
I am off shooting with Basil. Promised him we 
would both be back in a month.” 

“ In a month. But that is ” 

“ Fortnight for the double journey and a fortnight 
to find him. Well — the money was the next thing. 
I am pretty well known to the twelve tribes by 
this time. Alice was about the only chance. She 
smelt a rat, of course. Always hated Basil, for some 
reason.” 

“ I am the reason,” I thought. 

“ It began when they were quite kiddies. Any- 
way, the only way I could work the oracle was by 
telling the tale, as they say. Then she went at 
it bald-headed. Found out the Hertzensteins were 
sailing in the Arctic. Made her husband plank 
down all that was necessary. And here I am.” 

“ I am afraid you won’t find him,” I said. I 


134 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


believe tears came into my eyes. Although I would 
not take Basil back for anything in the world, I 
could not bear to think that anything could have 
happened to him. “ What makes you think he is in 
America at all ? ” 

“ If he is alive he is in New York at this 
minute.” 

“ What makes you think Surely, you haven’t 

heard from him ^ ” 

“ He is here — because you are. If you were in 
Kamchatka I should look for him there. Basil was 
a little fond of you, you know.” 

In my heart I believed that he was right. I have 
often had the feeling that the poor boy is not very 
far off. “ If so, why should he always have avoided 
me ? ” I asked his brother. 

“ Probably for the same reason that he has 
avoided me — only rather more so. Basil has the 
devil’s own pride tucked away in him somewhere. 
He probably doesn’t mean to turn up until he has 
shown what he really can do. Some men are like 
that, you know.” 

I did not want to discuss my husband behind his 
back — even to his brother. I determined to change 
the subject while there was still time. “ There 
seem to be quite a lot of fathers looking for their 
lost sons,” I said, as lightly as possible. “ Your old 
general — what became of him afterwards.^ ” 

“ I don’t know. He got better and came on 
shore,” he said angrily. “ And then, to my intense 
surprise, he began to attack me. It came out with 
a sort of burst, as if he had been struggling against 
it and could not hold it back any more. He did it 
quite nicely, all things considered, without a word 


MISS L’ESTRANGE S NARRATIVE 135 


to which I could take reasonable exception, abomin- 
ably unfair though he was to me. I felt rather as a 
wolf might if a lamb were suddenly to turn round 
and lecture him. His point of view interested me 
a good deal. It was all my fault, of course. The 
only reason for Basil’s behaviour, according to him, 
was that I had not cared for him enough. His 
anxiety to make me love him, or show that I loved 
him, had paralysed every other energy and ambition 
in him. I had always been cold to him, amiable 
enough, but showing him that I could get on 
perfectly well or better without him. Everybody 
had seen it. Even before we left England Basil 
had been half out of his mind with it. And the 
only reason he had come to America at all was that 
he could have me more entirely to himself, without 
any old friends or associations to act as rival to 
him. 

Unfair as all this was to me, I daresay there was 
some little truth in it. Basil was always rather 
tempestuous in his love for me, and, as far as that 
went, he was madly jealous of every man, woman, 
or child, cat, dog, or house-sparrow that I ever 
looked at. As I used to tell him, and as I repeated 
to his brother, my idea of love is something a little 
more solid than mere windy protestations. The 
man who allows his wife to starve because he is too 
busy making love to her to work for her may be a 
devout lover, but he is not a desirable husband. In 
Basil’s case he was not too deeply in love with me 
to make love to another woman at the tame time — 
though that I did not mention to Ivo. 

I confined my defence to platitudes, which is 
always the best way to avoid quarrelling. I liked 


136 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


him for standing up for his brother. I was rather 
surprised, too, to see how fond he was of him. In 
the end we settled everything amicably ; that love 
was a matter of temperament, and I couldn’t be 
blamed for being naturally cool-headed, nor Basil 
for wanting more than I could give him, and that if 
only things didn’t always go wrong it would be the 
best of all possible worlds, and so on. 

All this was too amiable to last, and in the end, 
the question came, which I had been expecting from 
the beginning. He put it humbly enough : “ When 
I do find him you will take him back again, won’t 
you ? ” 

“ I am very sorry — but no,” I had to tell him. 

“ But why should ” 

“We need not go into any reasons ” I was 

beginning again, when he suddenly sprang up from 
his chair and began to pace about the room another 
of his brother’s favourite tricks. 

“ You neeedn’t say it. I know it already,” he 
burst out. “ Because Basil is weak and has no 
ambition, and will never do anything in the world, 
and is absurdly jealous, and drinks and slackers 
generally. Whoever’s the fault is, we’ll take that 
for granted. And that because a woman doesn’t 
find a man everything she is fool enough to expect 
beforehand she has a perfect right to get rid of him 
the moment she thinks he is in her way.” 

“You really must ” 

“ Yes, 1 know. I am beastly rude to say it. It 
doesn’t matter, anyway. What I do want to say is 
that Basil isn’t the same man to-day that he was 
three years ago. He has had to rough it, we can 
be pretty sure of that ; he has had a chance of 


MISS L’ESTRANGE’S NARRATIVE 137 


finding out what things really mean, and all that 
kind of tommy rot, which I won’t inflict upon you. 
Basil always had it in him to do big things, and now 
that he has had the time to shake up and find out 
there are other things worth doing in the world 
than wearing your heart out and your life and your 
ambition after a wretched woman that isn’t worth it 
and can’t appreciate it and — I beg your pardon, 1 
am sure — I ought not to have said that.” 

“ Please don’t apologise,” I said icily. In my 
heart I admired him quite a lot. I had never seen 
anything like it in his brother, or things might have 
happened differently. 

“ I mean, then, that when 1 find Basil he will be 
quite a different man to the husband you used to 
have. And I only want you, when you do see him, 
to take him as he is, and not as something you used 
to think he was. Will you ? ” 

It was easy to promise so much, and it seemed to 
satisfy him. I could only hope that when he did 
find the brother he had such wonderful faith in, as 
it seemed to me, he might not turn out to have 
changed for the worse instead of the better. He 
seemed to read my thoughts. “ Don’t you fret,” 
he said inconsequently. “ He will have found his 
niche somewhere and be buzzing round in it like a 
jolly old squirrel in a twirly-wirly box. You see if 
he isn’t.” 

He had been walking about all the time. He 
stopped and came up to me with his hand out. “ I 
must be off now. No time to waste in this 
campaign. Only wish I knew how to begin. 
Might advertise for a start.” 

He was not thinking of me at all, which annoyed 


138 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


me. “ You are not to go yet,” I assured him. ‘‘ I 
am free all the afternoon, and I am going away to- 
morrow. It is only by the merest chance you 
caught me.” 

“ 1 would rather ” 

“ And I have a dozen commissions for you that I 
cannot execute for myself. Would you like to hear 
what they are ? But sit down again where I can 
see you. 1 want to get acquainted, as they say 
over here. I may not have the chance again, you 
know.” 

He obeyed unwillingly. He had worked himself 
up to the point of rushing off at once on the chance 
of finding his brother waiting for him at the nearest 
corner, I suppose. I might have given him the 
names of the cafes Basil used to favour most, but it 
would only have seemed brutal to him. 

“ I know what they are,” he said. ‘‘ I meant to 
see about them in any case.” He checked them off 
on his fingers. “ One : Rescue Kitty Something 
and her kid and take them off somewhere where 
they can make a fresh start. Two : Arrange for 
our burglar friend to be acquitted — I believe it is 
quite easy over here if you know the ropes, and I 
expect Miss Hertzenstein can help me. Oh yes, of 
course, I am going to see her again. One must 
play the game, you know, and the option is with 
her. Where was I ^ Yes, and marry him off to 
Kitty Something — in goal or out of it. Three : 
Find the old general, alive or dead. Four : Find 
his grand-daughter, give her his message, and 
introduce them. That’s all, I think.” 

“ There is number five,” I put in. ‘‘ I am 
inclined to think that if she is at all a nice girl you 


MISS L’ESTRANGE’S NARRATIVE 139 


must jilt Miss Hertzenstein and marry her. You 
had better show her to me first and I will advise 
you.” 

‘‘ There is number six too,” he went on, picking 
up my tone. “ Start old Basil and his wife off in 
double harness again — rather better put on than it 
was last time.” 

He stopped for a moment to see how I would 
take it. When I did not respond he went on in a 
more chastened way. “ That will be all right. I 
will see to them all except number five. I shall be 
able to work them in nicely together.” 

The modern Hercules,” I said, more than a 
little doubtfully. Basil was always going to do the 
most marvellous things without any trouble at all. 
I used to believe him at first. He always got tired 
of them before they were finished. 

“ N-n-o. Not exactly. You see, Hercules 
hadn’t any of our modern improvements. With 
railways and telephones and wireless and things, he 
wouldn’t have thought anything of his little jobs — 
though I forget what they were exactly. 

He spent the rest of the afternoon with me, and 
I made him stay to dinner as an excuse for putting 
off the Weisses. I liked him very much. I quite 
made up my mind that if he didn’t take to Miss 
Seaton 1 would marry him to Pattie Beaumont. 
He is the sort of boy that needs to be married — to 
some one with a will of her own. I should prefer 
Miss Seaton : it would round things off nicely. I 
don’t think 1 ever appreciated Basil’s good qualities 
so much as I did when they were reflected to me 
at this different angle. If he had walked in during 
the afternoon I believe I should have thrown myself 


140 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


into his arms. Fortunately he did not. Ivo even 
professes that he is coming to see me off at the 
Grand Central at 7.15 to-morrow morning. If he 
really does turn up I shall begin to believe that I 
treated Basil shamefully. 


PART V 

IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 
CHAPTER XV 

A WISE old owl like Basil would have worked 
everything out before he began, what he was going 
to do first and how he was going to do it. I didn’t. 
1 am an impulsive animal when I get started, and as 
soon as I had seen Inez off from the Grand Central 
I set about hunting up the way to Paterson, New 
Jersey. I had the baby’s address, and that was 
about all, so I thought I would collect it first and 
use it as a bait to gather in its mother, as they do 
in the lion hunts. I don’t know if I had any exact 
plan, such as carrying it through every street in 
New York and pinching it to make it cry whenever 
I passed a likely looking house, but that was the 
general idea. 

I found Paterson all right. Some one told me 
that it was a seething mass of anarchists, but it 
seemed a bright enough little place to me. I found 
Orange Street and I found 2,185, ^ nearly 

as possible turned tail and bolted. It seemed such 
an asinine thing to do, to drop into a strange house 
and ask for a baby, when you didn’t even know its 


142 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


name. They might give me in charge as a kid- 
napper for all I knew. If I hadn’t promised Inez to 
write her in the evening to Chicago and tell her 
how I had got on I believe I should have funked 
it. Only I thought she would end up by thinking 
me just the sort of person she seemed to think Basil 
was — and that did it. 

It was rather a tumble-down little house, of wood, 
of course — they all seem to be about here — that had 
once been painted steel-blue picked out with yellow 
and looked as if it could do with another coat 
without getting vain. You could see daylight under 
one end of it, and there were a bay-window and a 
stoop, both a bit on the slant. There were the 
remains of a wooden pavement — they call it side- 
walk here, rather sensibly, I think — in front, and 
they seemed to have got tired after that and given 
up any idea of making a road. I hurried up and 
rang, so as to cut off my own retreat. A tall, thin, 
foreign-looking woman opened the door, so quickly 
that she might have been waiting for me behind 
it. She wasn’t a bit pleased to see me either, said 
I had come three days too soon and she hadn’t got 
the money anyway. She had on an amazing sort of 
magenta dressing-gown that was so bright it nearly 
blinded me. 

For a moment I couldn’t say anything, but at last 
I found my voice, just as it was chasing my courage 
down my right trouser-leg. “ I’ve come to fetch 
baby,” I said, with the nearest thing to a paternal 
smile I could manage. I didn’t remember whether 
it had a name or not, but that seemed playing for 
safety. 

The woman just stood there and goggled at me. 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIA^E 143 


I suppose I struck her as rather a queer looking 
father of a family. “You are Mrs. Brownstone, 
aren’t you ? ” I went on, casting around for cor- 
roborative detail. 

She just stood where she was, straddling across 
the doorway and staring at me with a face that 
hadn’t any kind of expression in it whatever. 

“ Baby,” I said, drawling it out as a sheep might. 
I was getting so worried I felt like spelling it to 
her. “ Baby. My baby. Fourteen months old. 
With — with — the curls, you know.” I didn’t know 
if it had curls, but the chances were that it had 
hair of some kind, and paternal vanity would pass 
for doing the rest in case there was any mistake. 
“ You wrote to my wife the day before yesterday 
that you wanted it taken away. I have come to 
fetch it.” 

I don’t know if she usually slept standing, but 
she seemed to wake up at that. “ Ach,” she said 
slowly. “ You are Mr. Williamson. I thought you 
was dead.” 

I hadn’t heard of it, I told her. The awful 
thought had come to me that perhaps she took in 
babies wholesale, and I might carry off one of the 
wrong ones. It was too late to back out of it, 
though. I told her I had been out West — nice 
wide sound about that, 1 thought — and had only just 
got back, and that might account for the mistake. 
“ My wife’s name is Williamson,” I said, “ and so 
is baby’s, and I have brought the money.” 

Dear old Basil always prided himself on saying 
the right thing, but he couldn’t have hit the mark 
better himself. It was quite an inspiration, and 
Mrs. Brownstone gave up any idea of going to 


144 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


sleep again. So she said, as if she really meant it, 
“ It is twenty dollars.” 

I would have given fifty gladly if she would 
guarantee it was the right baby, but I thought it 
wiser to seem to know something about the business 
end. “ I understood — my wife told me — it was only 
twelve. Two dollars a week at ” 

“ It is twenty,” said Mrs. Brownstone, as firmly 
as if she was one of the Pyramids. “In another 
three days it will be twenty-five.” 

At that rate, I thought, if I tried any haggling I 
shouldn’t have enough left to get home again before 
I had finished. I pulled out all the money I could 
find. I hate those greasy dollar bills that always 
get crumpled up in the bottom of your trouser 
pockets. “ I’ve got a train to catch,” I told her. 
“ All you have got to do is to write me a receipt ” — 
another good business touch that seemed — “ and 
bring out that baby. I will wait here till you do.” 
It struck me that if I went in she might leave 
me to pick it out of perhaps a dozen of them. I 
couldn’t even remember whether it was a boy or a 
girl, and I shouldn’t have known which was which 
if 1 had. I had some vague idea that at home you 
tie up one of them with pink ribbons and the other 
with blue, but I couldn’t remember which went with 
which ; so it wasn’t much good anyway, besides 
being very likely the other way about over here. 

While I was puzzling it out, Mrs. Brownstone 
turned, all of a piece, exactly like one of the people 
in a Noah’s ark, and waddled away down a passage. 
I had to wait about five minutes, which I spent 
saying what I could remember of the Litany, and 
then she came back, with a baby over one arm and 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 145 


a little stringy-looking valise in her hand. “ Zee 
money,” she said, holding out her other hand round 
the baby. 

I couldn’t see what colour ribbons it was wear- 
ing ; it had a sort of woolly red overcoat on, that 
its legs stuck out of just like the pistils of a fuchsia, 
and a cap on its head like one of the witches in 
“ Macbeth.” 

If I was on oath, being tried for my life, I 
couldn’t say what happened in the next five 
minutes. 1 discovered that the baby was alive when 
it turned its head and spat at me. It hadn’t seemed 
real before. I suppose I paid all right without 
fainting ; and I know I got a receipt, because I 
found it next day mushed up with a lot of dollar 
bills into a squashy sort of ball in my trouser 
pocket. The next thing I remember is turning 
the corner out of that accursed street, carrying the 
baby and the valise. Of course, that was just the 
moment I must choose to realise what an infernal 
ass I was all the time, in going after the kid before 
I had found the mother. She would have spotted 
it first go-off. Now, if ever I did find her, which 
was doubtful, it was odds on that it was the wrong 
baby. If I didn’t, I should have the little wretch 
on my hands for all eternity, or until the real 
mother tracked me down and ran me in for kid- 
napping. 

It was an amiable kid, which was something to 
be thankful for. As a young American, I suppose 
it thought it was its duty to start learning to spit as 
early as possible. Fortunately it hadn’t got very 
far, only what might have passed for soap-bubbles. 
It was rather pretty in a pincushion sort of way, 

lO 


146 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


and it seemed to find no end of fun sticking its 
putty fingers into my eyes and calling me ‘ Mama ’ 
in a voice that sounded as if it were thanking 
Providence things weren’t any worse. I didn’t 
know whether it was old enough to walk, though 
its legs were thick enough, so I dared not put it 
down, even when my arm began to feel as if it had 
fallen off and been badly fixed on again. Besides 
the soap-bubbles, its nose badly wanted wiping ; 
but I hadn’t got a hand free to attend to that. I 
would have given the world for a drink, but I 
wasn’t sure it might not be criminal to take a 
child of tender years into a saloon. Altogether, 
things were looking pretty moderately complicated 
by the time I got to the railroad depot. 

I managed to do a bit of thinking on the way — 
which is more than some people could have done, 
overburdened with brains or not — and I made up 
my mind how to act. I should just take the child 
back to the Waldorf and give it to the chamber- 
maid to take care of as if it were the most natural 
thing in the world. If she didn’t seem struck with 
the idea 1 was going to tell her that I was only a 
poor foreigner who didn’t understand the customs 
of the country, and would she please tell me what 
to do with it. Fortunately it didn’t come to that ; 
I really had jolly good luck all through. 

1 didn’t get into the smoking-car — felt it might 
not be proper for the father of a young family. 
It was lucky I did not. The train was not very 
full, and on the other side of the aisle, facing 
towards me, was a fat, motherly-looking woman 
who began to flirt with the kid even before we got 
out of the depot. The kid tumbled to it like a 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 147 


garrison hack ; it was getting a bit sick of me by 
that time, when it found my eyes wouldn’t come 
out for anything short of tin-openers. It had the 
most confoundedly sharp finger-nails for its age. 

As soon as the woman started making faces at it 
it began calling her “ Ma,” or the nearest it could 
get to it. Then it waved itself at her like a young 
octopus, and when I hung on to it, it started . kick- 
ing and lashing out at me as if I was a Turk and it 
a Montenegrin, yowling at the top of its voice all 
the time. And, by Jove, it had the machinery for 
half-a-dozen voices hidden away somewhere inside 
it. 

The woman was a trump. She came right over 
to my side at once and said, “ Let me take it a bit, 
won’t you ^ 1 have four of my own.” She didn’t 

say it as if she was trying to arouse sympathy 
either ; seemed rather proud of it. The kiddy 
took to her at once too ; hadn’t another word to 
say to me, in spite of all I had done for it, and 
although I pointed my finger at it and said “ Goo, 
goo,” and “ Chuck, chuck,” and all the other 
appropriate things I could think of.” 

“ Dear little thing,” the woman said, very 
generously, for it had got a fistful of her hair and 
was pulling it all ways at once. “ Your child ? ” 

I was just going to say, “ Thank God, things 
aren’t as bad as that,” but I pulled myself up in 
time. ‘‘ Its name is Williamson,” I said. ‘‘ And it 
is an orphan.” 

“ Poor lamb,” the woman began. I could see 
she was only just starting. But I meant to get my 
story out first, or burst. 

“ Its father was an engineer on the B. & O.” I 


148 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


ran plump into my first difficulty there, because I 
wasn’t sure if the word “ engineer ” means the same 
here as at home. She seemed to swallow it without 
any trouble, so I supposed it was all right and that 
they do have engineers on the B. & O., which I 
knew was some sort of railway, because I had seen 
its name on the advertisements. “ He was killed 
at Schenectady, N.Y.” I went on as pathetically as 
I could. I knew all about Schenectady, because I 
lost five dollars on the boat over a bet that I could 
pronounce it right first time. 1 didn’t know 
whether it was on the B. & O. line, but that didn’t 
matter, because he might have been a passenger at 
the time, visiting his widowed mother, or anything 
really. “ He was caught in a fly-wheel.” That 
was another wild shot, but the baby upset me just 
then by dribbling all over the woman’s bonnet- 
strings, and I wondered whether I ought to tell her. 

‘‘ Poor lamb,” the woman said again — and I 
wondered whether she meant the baby or its un- 
fortunate parent. 

“ Its mother is dead too,” I went on quickly. 
“ She died the week before last. Of complicated 
grippe ” — a good American word that. I was 
beginning to feel more at home. ‘‘ Accentuated by 
grief, the Doc. said.” I was rather proud of 
“Doc.” It was just one of those little Ameri- 
canisms that show you know the language. “ I am 
her brother. Her only brother.” 

I stopped, to give her a chance to say “ poor 
lamb,” if she felt like it. I was just beginning to 
get a little feeling back into the arm I had been 
carrying the kid with. 

“ You are English, aren’t you ” the woman 


IVO TALBOYS* NARRATIVE 149 


asked. I thought for the moment she might be 
going to tell me that there was a law that foreigners 
couldn’t own freehold babies in the United States, 
or something like that, only she said it kindly, as 
if she knew I couldn’t help it and she was sorry 
for me. 

“ Welsh,” I told her. I had an idea that Lloyd 
George was rather popular over here. I would 
have said I was an Irish Home Ruler, I was so 
anxious to arouse sympathy — only I didn’t feel 
sure of the accent. “ I was born within a mile or 
twa ” — “ twa ” struck me as having lots of local 
colour about it somehow — ‘‘ of Haverford West.” 
I stopped near there, with the Wynnes last year, so 
I knew there was such a place. It was a mistake 
all the same ; it let loose the love of pedigree that 
devastates every true American heart. 

“ My husband’s grandfather was Welsh,” she 
began. She was holding back the baby from 
breaking its neck by tumbling olF the seat, with 
one hand and flattening out her hair with the 
other. “ He was from ” 

I had to be rude, but fortunately that doesn’t 
matter in America. ‘‘ This dear child,” I said, “ is 
now an orphan, like myself. I am now carrying 
out its mother’s dying wish.” I tried to squeeze 
out a tear but it wouldn’t work, so I passed it off 
by pretending to have a cinder in my eye. “ She 

had put it to nurse ” It seemed to me the 

woman was wearing a surprised look, so I went on 
hurriedly, ‘‘ with a woman — lady, I mean — in 
Paterson. She didn’t like the people much and 
she was always wanting to take it away. Only she 
was too sick.” I had been scheming to get sick ” 


150 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


in, somehow, because I knew it was the copestone 
of the American language. “ She was too sick — 
very much too sick, and she couldn’t get over 
there. I felt I ought to see to it as soon as she was 
planted.” I had read that in a book somewhere. 
It means buried. “ And now I have.” 

‘‘ And what are you going to do with it ^ ” It 
seemed to me that she was trying not to laugh, 
though I couldn’t see anything funny in what I 
had been telling her. 

‘‘ That’s what is worrying — rattling me, I mean. 
I am rooming with a dear uncle who keeps a dry- 
goods store over on the East Side.” If you 
remember how short a time I had been in the 
country I would defy anyone to learn how to bring 
in more local idioms in one sentence in half the 
time. “ He has only one bedroom, and I have 
been sleeping under the counter. I somehow feel 
it might not be healthy for dear little Bertie.” 

I knew something was wrong before the words 
were out of my mouth. “ Bertie,” said the woman. 

This child, do you "mean } ” 

I had some idea of saying, “ Yes — short for 
Rosamund, you know,” but that might only be 
making things worse. “ Yes, of course,” I said 
with a perfectly idiotic smile. “ Dear little Bertie. 
This child’s elder brother. Just six months older 
and such a beauty. Of course it applies just the 
same. It is a very small counter, too.” 

I was beginning to lose confidence, and Heaven 
knows what mightn’t have happened if fortunately 
the kid hadn’t begun to howl and filled up the gaps 
for me. She was a thoroughly nice woman, lapped 
up everything I said like milk. I expect she put 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 151 


any little contradictions down to my being a poor 
half-witted foreigner. She took charge of the 
whole proceedings from that minute, and a most 
practical, sensible body she was. Almost before I 
knew it she was hustling me out of the train at 
some station I have forgotten the name of — 
Boulevard Heights, I think it was, on the outskirts 
of Jersey City. I shan’t forget that station in a 
hurry, name or no name, because it was in a deep 
cutting, and you got to the road up a long iron 
stairway, and I as nearly as possible dropped the 
kid over the side, by accident, of course. I was 
getting rather fond of it now that we had been 
through so much together and I didn’t have to 
worry over its future any more. 

On the top of the cutting was a suburban road, 
the usual frame houses standing back in plots of 
mud, that was meant for grass, and lots of trees 
about and even a flower or two in the gardens. 
Very healthy for the child, I thought. The 
woman’s name was Mrs. Pash, and her husband 
was something that I have forgotten, and her father 
was something that I don’t remember, and her 
brothers and sisters were 1 don’t know what, and 
she had any number of cousins and aunts, and told 
me all about them from their birth up, and the 
exact size of the casket each of them had been 
buried in, and whether it was oak with brass 
handles or plain walnut with silver plated. She 
told me all that before we had got to the top of the 
hill, and left herself time to ask all about the baby’s 
parents and relations and ancestors and connections 
and hereditary enemies. She would swallow them 
faster than I could invent them really, though I 


152 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


surprised even myself. When it comes to a 
question of not being overburdened with brains I 
should like to know how old Mr. Moresby would 
have managed in a case like that. 

In the end Mrs. Pash ran me into the house of a 
woman she knew who took in children to keep, and 
made all the arrangements, and fought like one of 
the Gordons at Dargai over a matter of fifty cents a 
month, and won a glorious victory, and was telling 
me the best way back to the East Side before I had 
time to realise that the other woman took in kids 
at all. She jumped on me with both feet, I re- 
member, because I offered to pay six months in 
advance when she thought three was enough. The 
whole thing was only to cost ten dollars a month, 
with I don’t know how many gallons of fresh milk 
a day guaranteed. Made me think having a family 
was a much simpler sort of thing than I thought. 
She is a great woman, is Mrs. Pash, and may she 
.ive a hundred years and have a hundred children ! 
1 don’t wonder America flourishes if there are many 
women about like her. 

It wasn’t until I was going up to my room in the 
hotel elevator that I remembered I had forgotten 
the name of the place and the street and the people 
and my own. I remembered the kid’s name was 
Williamson — if it was the right kid of course — and 
I knew that mine was Welsh and the name of some 
saint. I felt at the time I chose it I had deserved 
that. But whether it was Andrews or Edwards or 
Thomas or Jones was beyond me. But I was so 
pleased with the way things had gone generally that 
I wasn’t going to be worried by little details like 
that. The first thing I did was to send off a 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 153 


telegram to Inez in Chicago, although I knew she 
couldn’t have got there yet. “Hercules whipped 
to a frazzle,” I said. It had a sort of local colour 
about it that pleased me, whether she understood it 
or not. 

It turned out to be only half-past twelve by the 
time I got back. I had been feeling that it must be 
the day after to-morrow after all I had been through. 
I stood myself a good lunch. I felt I had thor- 
oughly earned it. There were four things I had 
always heard of as being first-class in America, so I 
ordered them all. They were planked shad, soft- 
shell crabs, clam chowder, and terrapin. I couldn’t 
get the clam chowder. It struck me the waiter 
looked rather haughty when I ordered it, so I had 
oysters instead. He didn’t seem to understand what 
I wanted at first, so in case there might be anything 
wrong, I explained to him that I was a food-re- 
former. I understood when the things turned up. 

I stood myself half-a-bottle of Pommery as a sort 
of bonus, thinking it might give me ideas about 
rescuing the baby’s mother. I didn’t get very far, 
because an ass sitting at the next table, almost in 
my pocket, interrupted me. He had nearly finished 
before I started, and I could see he was interested in 
me by the way he pricked up his ears when I gave 
my order. Before I got anything he turned round 
and spoke to me. The usual question, of course. 
“You are an Englishman, aren’t you ” I used to 
think the Americans always called us Britishers, but 
it seems that was a mistake. It was English with 
me all the time. 

I was quite ready for him. “ I am English,” I 
said. “ I am not here on business. I think no end 


154 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


of your country, and I shall think a lot more of it 
when I have had time to see something of it. I 
don’t know anything about the Presidential Elec- 
tion.” 

I had got it into my head that he was a reporter, 
but it seemed that it was a mistake. He was a long, 
melancholy-looking man with a beard. “ I don’t 
think I quite understand you,” he said sadly. “ I 

was going to ask you ” 

“I know,” I said. I wasn’t really insane, and 
the Pommery hadn’t turned up then, so it couldn’t 
have been that. I was so pleased to be sitting down 
by myself instead of having to worry about giving a 
wretched baby its bottle that I didn’t seem to care 
what I said. “ Please take this vacant chair beside 
me. I want to ask you something.” 

He sat down all right, though I somehow got the 
idea he didn’t want to. ‘‘ 1 was going to ask 

you ” he began again. 

“ If you had to find a shop — store, I mean — that 
was kept by a man, or woman, called Ferrati, 
either in Second Avenue or in some street leading 
oflT it, only you didn’t exactly know where — how 
would you set about it ? ” 

It had struck me that the Williamson girl would 
be pretty sure to call there sometime to get news 
about her baby, and that I could leave a note for 
her there, or something of that sort. And I didn’t 
see why the melancholy man might not be able to 
help me as well as anyone else. 

“ I was going to ask you,” he said quite ignoring 
my question, “ if you are by any chance Professor 
Armstrong, of the University of North Wales. I 
have come here on purpose to meet him, and I 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 155 


understand he is staying at this hotel. He arrived 
this morning by the Celtic^ but I unfortunately 
missed him at the dock. My own name is Purvis 
— Professor Purvis, of Minnewattoc.” 

I was no end flattered at being taken for a pro- 
fessor. J told him I was delighted to meet him, and 
as the Pommery arrived just then I asked him if he 
wouldn't have some. He looked sadder than ever 
at that. I can see that you are not Professor 
Armstrong," he said. I was misled by believing 
myself to hear you say that you were interested in 
dietetic reform. Professor Armstrong, as you are 
no doubt aware, is among the leading " 

I hadn’t been a professor long enough to be 
turned out without a struggle. I frowned as wisely 
as I knew how. “ Professor Armstrong is not very 
sound, I fear, on the question of Icthyophagy," I 
said. I don’t know how the word happened to 
come into my head, unless it was the Pommery, 
or how I knew what it meant, but it seemed to fill 
the vacant space admirably. “ You will understand 

therefore ’’ I hung on the word as long as 

possible in the hope that he would say something. 
He didn’t ; he only looked at me as if he were 
going to cry. “You will understand, therefore,’’ 
I went on in desperation, “ why it is I am so 
anxious to find a store kept by a man called 
Ferrati in some street off Second Avenue some- 
where. My idea was to take a taxi and tell the 
driver to start at one end and go right along to the 
other, making inquiries on the way. How does 
that strike you } ’’ 

He wasn’t at all a bad sort really, and as soon as 
he had got it out of his head that I was Professor 


156 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


Armstrong, he did his very best to be useful. I 
had to humour him a bit, of course. The thing 
that interested him most, next to food reform, was 
that his grandfather was one of the Purvises of 
Glutton Purvis, in Nottinghamshire, whither they 
emigrated from some place in Suffolk in 1405, 
after having been among the most prominent of 
Hereward’s backers against the Normans. I saw 
I had to let him get it off his chest, and I cheered 
him up on the way by telling him, what was true 
enough, though Alice tries to forget it, that my 
grandfather was a cobbler with a stall in Fore 
Street, Nottingham, and a good connection about 
the time of the Goose Fair. He was quite delighted, 
wrung my hand until it hurt, and said that in that 
case we were as good as cousins, and I must let 
him know all the reasons that first led me into 
becoming an icthyophagist, and he would send me 
the latest of the little pamphlets by which he had 
proved from the shape of the human teeth and the 
convulutions of the knee-joint, that men were only 
intended to eat nuts. He said that friendly discus- 
sion on such important things as these is as the 
breath of life, and that he hoped to introduce to me 
Professor Armstrong, of whose masterly mind he 
was proud to think his own a pale reflection. I 
agreed with him about everything — it was the least 
I could do, having ordered another half of Pommery 
— and promised to send him a copy of a pamphlet I 
was thinking of publishing about the shape and size 
of the herring-bone considered in the light of the 
convolution of the greater intestine. After an effort 
like that I let him simmer for a bit, and then turned 
him gently into Second Avenue. 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 157 


He didn’t think much of the taxi-cab idea. He 
said it might mean starting ten miles out in the 
country, because some of the New York avenues 
never seem able to make up their minds where to 
stop, and that taxi-cab fare would probably be about 
three thousand dollars. He smiled sadly at that, 
and said he was from Missouri, and I had to tell 
him — whatever that meant — and he had had his first 
ride in a New York taxi that morning, so he spoke 
with feeling. He went on to tell me that there 
were, I forget how many million Dagos in New 
York, most of them on the East Side, where Second 
Avenue was, and that Ferrati was a common Italian 
name, and 1 should probably find a couple of hundred 
stores of that name in Second Avenue. 

I remembered that it was probably somewhere 
near a place called Hamilton Fish Park and that 
cheered him up a lot, because, he said, he had been 
wondering why I was so interested in Mr. Ferrati, 
and of course that explained everything. If it was 
a sea-food market it would surely be easy to find. 
We asked the waiter, but he didn’t know ; and he 
asked another waiter, who said it was somewhere in 
Canal Street, and the wine waiter said it was over in 
Brooklyn, and altogether they got up quite a healthy 
argument over it. 

In the middle of it the Professor suddenly jumped 
up. ‘‘ Excuse me,” he said, ‘‘ but you see that red- 
faced gentleman who has just come in. He must 
be an Englishman. Very probably Professor 
Armstrong himself. Will you excuse me ? ” Then 
he shook hands — they seem to revel in shaking 
hands over there — and said that he wished me 
every success in my glorious mission, and that I was 


158 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


to be sure to look in whenever I was passing, and 
then he faded away across the room, and I saw him 
take a chair and sit down at the red-faced man’s 
table. 

I felt lonely after he had gone, and as there were 
about fifty waiters by that time wrangling over 
Hamilton Fish Park, which was getting pushed clear 
out of the State between them, I slipped out and 
asked one of the bell-boys. He knew all right — 
those little devils know everything and more too. 
He told me what street-car to take and the address 
of a cafe that was kept by an Italian who was the 
head of some secret society for doing murders at 
popular prices, and knew every professional Italian 
murderer in New York and quite a lot who were 
only amateurs. So off I went to look for him. 


CHAPTER XVI 


If I had known what I was letting myself in for I 
suppose I should never have gone, and then I should 
have always regretted it without knowing it. I 
must have spent a couple of hours wandering about 
some of the maddest sort of places that ever 
happened. It wasn’t so much the streets or the 
houses ; most of them might have been in a shabby 
part of Bloomsbury, except that they were painted 
a cold red imitation brick-colour and had iron fire- 
escapes zig-zagging down the front of them. If 
you stood at the corner of some of the streets and 
looked down them it was just as if they were all 
grown over with wisteria stems without any leaves 
on them. It was the people finished me, though. 
Towers of Babel weren’t in it with them. They 
seemed to live in the open air, all of them ; and 
their places looked so filthy you couldn’t blame 
them. Whenever they could find a bit of waste 
land their great idea seemed to be to squat down on 
it and start playing shop with some dirty old iron or 
a bundle of rags, or some dried fish that was left 
over from Noah’s dinner. When they weren’t 
doing that they were arguing about it, all over the 
road, with lorries and carts and wagons butting 
through them as though they weren’t there, and men 
playing cat’s cradle in and out of them with little 


160 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


push-carts with bells strung over the top of them, 
tinkling away like the Ranche des Vaches. Not 
one of the stores had so much as one English word 
about them : they were all set out in Yiddish or 
Russian or Italian or Mumbo-Jumbo or Greek. 
Most of the things they sold were the kind you only 
come across in nightmares, and the smells that came 
out of some of them were like Post-Impressionist 
paintings. 

Pretty soon I began to feel like a shipwrecked 
mariner cast away in a Turkish lunatic asylum, and 
the sight of real New York bobbies in their neat 
uniforms, twirling their clubs between their fingers 
and looking thoroughly bored with life at some of 
the street-corners, was like the “ Miner’s Dream of 
Home.” I spoke to one of them, more to remind 
myself that I was awake than for anything else. He 
was a nice fellow, though he did smile when I told 
him I was looking for an Italian called Ferrati who 
kept a store where he sold things. He told me I 
had better try the regular Italian quarter, over the 
other side of the Bowery, wherever that was. He 
didn’t seem to think I had even a sporting chance 
though — and neither did I. 

It was different when I asked him about Buona- 
mici, the bell-boy’s little friend. He opened his 
eyes when I told him who I wanted, and I felt I 
had put my foot in it somehow. Then he said it 
was close by, and he would take me there. I had 
another short nightmare, and when I woke up we 
were outside a dirty cafe in a street so much dirtier 
that it looked positively dazzling. My policeman 
rapped with his club on the window, and when a 
man came to the door he said : “ Say, Joe, fix this 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 161 


guy up with what he wants. He’s a friend of 
mine.” Then he gave his moustache an extra 
twirl and said he would wait outside in case I 
wanted him. 

Mr. Buonamici was one of the six fattest men I 
ever saw, though it is true he didn’t come near the 
Cloud. He had quite a fair-sized space behind 
his counter, but he had to get into it sideways, and 
when he turned round he stuck out about a foot 
over it. I suppose it has something to do with the 
climate ; I have seen fatter people in New York, 
and more of them, than anywhere else in the world. 
He was quite friendly, especially when I asked him 
to have a drink and to serve one round to the half- 
dozen frowsy-looking assassins who were lounging 
about the bar. I thought it would make the 
atmosphere right, but it was a mistake. They all 
wanted to kiss me, and when I told them who 1 
was after they all started off like a pack of hounds 
on a strong scent arguing about which Ferrati I 
wanted. 1 took down particulars of about ninety, 
and then, as there seemed a prospect of a free light, 
and I didn’t know whether they used knives or 
bombs, I remembered an appointment with my 
bankers, and slipped away. My policeman was 
waiting outside, as bored as ever. He wasn’t 
surprised I hadn’t got any farther, and led the way 
back to the place 1 had first met him, as slow as a 
funeral, so that he could tell me that his grand- 
mother came from Kidderminster, England, and he 
himself would have been born in Dublin only his 
mother happened to be in Brooklyn at the time. 

I didn’t exactly know what was the proper etiquette 
in a case like his. I asked him if he would have a 


162 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


drink, but he said he didn’t approve of it. I didn’t 
like to offer him money, he had such an aristocratic 
manner, so in the end I only shook hands with him 
and told him to be sure and drop in whenever he 
was passing, which seems to be the proper thing 
to say over here. 

I quite gave over any hope of finding the kid’s 
mother that way, and I more than half made up my 
mind to look up friend Dayrell in the Tombs, if he 
was there, and see if he could give me any tip where 
to find her. I was just looking round for someone 
who looked as if they could speak some European 
language when I found myself in Hamilton Fish 
Park, without in the least knowing how I got 
there. 

I was a bit disappointed with it somehow. I had 
been thinking such a lot about it that I am not sure 
I hadn’t expected to find a trout-stream or a salmon- 
hatchery or something. It turned out to be rather 
a desolate little square that must have forgotten 
years ago what a blade of grass looks like. It had 
been taken by storm by the Polish Jews of the 
neighbourhood, as the nearest thing they could find 
to the market-place in Warsaw or Krakau, I suppose. 
They were camped there as thick as guillemots on 
the Bass Rock, amusirig themselves by selling each 
other second-hand penknives. 

I was standing at one corner of it watching a riot 
between two old Jewish women, with shaven heads 
and wigs made of some kind of wood-shavings. I 
was wishing I could understand something of what 
they said — it sounded no end interesting — when 
one of them charged the other, and the crowd of 
us had to lurch back into the roadway to save our 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 168 


eyes. I happened to look up, and not two streets 
off 1 saw a bright blue dress going round a 
corner. 

It was much too good to be true, but off I pelted, 
and by the time I got to the corner that blue dress 
was half-way down the next street. I chased after it 
like a lunatic ; I had quite made up my mind that it 
was the one I was looking for. It turned down 
another side street before I could catch up with it 
and when I turned after it it wasn’t anywhere in 
sight. I ran up and down a bit, looking into door- 
ways and side-alleys, without any luck. Then as I 
ran back for the last time I nearly capsized over three 
solemn, small people who were holding a pow-wow 
in the gutter. They were just in front of a sort of 
a den that looked like a cross between an ash-heap 
and a wood-yard, disguised as either a grocery or 
a wine-shop, according to individual taste, and 
trimmed with cheap cigarette posters. Over it was 
written, by some one who had St. Vitus’ dance and 
wrote with his left hand, which was paralysed, 
‘ Antonio Ferrati.’ 1 just stood still and stared at 
it with my mouth open and let those kiddies 
wreathe themselves round my legs like Jack and the 
Beanstalk. I couldn’t have moved at that moment 
if a mad elephant had happened along. 

I pulled myself together in time and made a dart 
for the door, nearly knocking over a young Lion of 
Judah who was showing his friends how to use my 
legs as parallel bars, and carrying off a red-white- 
and-blue streamer arrangement he had twisted round 
my ankle. I heard the sort of yell behind me that 
the Philistines must have set up when Goliath went 
under, but I hadn’t any time to think about that, 


164 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


because just as I was going to enter the shop an 
enormous woman, that could have given Buonamici 
five stone and a beating, enveloped the door from 
inside and began cursing me in eleven different 
kinds of Italian all at once. I was so startled that I 
nearly fell over backwards, and the only words I 
could think of to pacify her were Chi si park 
Italiano,” repeated over and over again like a talis- 
man. 

The oddest part of it was that it really seemed to 
have some effect. At any rate, the cloud of flesh 
stopped vomiting fire, perhaps because it was out of 
breath, and just stood there panting, and I saw 
another woman peering over an edge of it at me as 
if I was the devil let loose. 

“ Chi si park Italiano. Chi si park Italiano,” 
I kept on saying to let them know I was a harmless 
foreigner, and not a bailiff or a rent-collector, and 
I bowed away as hard as I could, with my hat in my 
hand, until my back ached. 

It really was the deuce and all of a situation. It 
wouldn’t have surprised me in the least if the Cloud 
had sprung at me as soon as she got her breath 
back. I heard yowlings all round me too, and 
looking down I saw that the Philistines — or perhaps 
I ought to say the army of David — had taken me in 
the rear, and was surging all over my ankles — the 
queerest collection of sharp, little brown faces and 
beady black eyes. One of Aaron’s direct descendants 
was grappling my calves as if he were challenging 
me to a bout under Graeco-Roman rules. Crowds 
of grown-up Israelites were hurrying up as reinforce- 
ments, and altogether I began to feel like a terrier 
that had just drawn a badger unintentionally and 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 165 


finds his retreat cut off by an army of rats. But it 
only proved salvation in disguise. Little Aaronson 
unwound his streamer before I could be lynched ; 
a passing wagon cut off the reinforcements, and I 
actually saw signs of a smile beginning to split up 
the Cloud. 

“ Chi si park Italiano,” I said. “ The mother of 
baby Williamson. La madre de — oh, damn it. 
From Miss L’Estrange. Chi si park Italiano. If 
you wouldn’t mind telling me.” 

The Cloud rolled away from the door and the 
other woman looked out. ‘‘ From Miss L’Estrange, 
did you say ? Oh, please did you say from 
Miss L’Estrange ? ” She had her hand over 
her heart, and her face was all pale under the 
paint. 

It was the mother all right. I knew that by her 
dress as well as her face. It was bright blue, and 
just about as tawdry as it could be, all splashed 
with mud down one side. She had a black helmet 
hat with an absurd green shaving-brush sticking up 
from it, and an imitation chinchilla stole and muff 
that looked as if an ambitious barber had been 
practising on them, and black cotton gloves, and 
shoes with enormously high heels and imitation 
diamond buckles. She had a healthy black eye 
that some one had tried to doctor up, and her face 
was painted an awful pinkish purple, and her hair 
was about the brassiest shade of gold. Not at all 
the kind of young lady you would care to be seen 
speaking to in the ordinary way. But the poor 
little wretch looked so miserable, standing there 
framed in the blackness of the doorway — you could 
see the tear-lines quite plainly on the paint, and I 


166 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


remembered she was an English girl after all, and — 
damn it, I felt sorry for her. 

‘‘ Excuse me,” I said, bowing away as hard as I 
could as a sign that I meant well, but are you 
baby’s mother? Baby Williamson’s mother, I 
mean ? ” 

My heart stood still for a mimute. It would have 
been quite too awful if she had said no, and I had 
collected the wrong baby after all. 

‘‘From Miss L’Estrange, did you say? Oh, 
please did you say from Miss L’Estrange ? From 
Miss L’Estrange? ” She kept on repeating it very 
much as I had my “Chi si park Italiano” — as some- 
thing that might keep off the evil eye at a pinch, I 
suppose. 

“ On my word of honour, I am. Her brother-in- 
law. I have had the dickens’ own time looking for 
you.” 

The black cotton glove went up to the poor little 
flat chest again. “ If you would let me come in for 
a minute,” I said. “ I think I have some rather 
good news for you.” 

I never saw such eagerness as there was on her 
face as she stood aside to let me pass. It was like 
a death’s head that had just heard of a vacancy in 
the heavenly choir. I went in quite gladly, thinking 
all my troubles were over. They weren’t, though. 
I had hardly put my foot over the threshold when I 
heard a sort of scuffling in a corner, and before you 
could say knife an old man jumped up out of no- 
where and ran at me with a big cavalry sabre. He 
didn’t actually reach me, because the Cloud suddenly 
loomed up between us — very much as it used to in 
the Iliad — and gave the old man a friendly cuff that 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 167 


sent him spinning until he fetched up against the 
wall, and took the sabre away from him and set him 
down on a bench, and straightened him up into some- 
thing that looked vaguely human again — all in one 
roll as it were. Then it began to smile, yards and 
yards of it, and a voice came out of it. I couldn’t 
for the life of me reproduce the accent, which was 
something between Saffron Hill and the Savoy 
Hotel in August, but I could understand it all right. 
“ It is only Nonno, my husband,” it said or words 
to that effect. “ He believed you to be an 
Austrian.” 

I was feeling a little shaken, but I managed to 
mumble something about being delighted to make 
his acquaintance. 

“ He has not his senses,” went on the Cloud, as 
if nothing unusual had happened. “ He has not 
been in his right mind this — this thirty years. 
Have you Nonno ? ” 

The old man nodded as if he quite agreed with 
her, and said something that sounded like, “ No, 
indeed.” 

‘‘Tell him you were with Garibaldi,” went on 
the Cloud. “ Say you were at Mentana. It will 
please him. He was wounded there.” 

I told him I had commanded the right wing — I 
don’t know much about soldiering, but it sounded 
technical — and that I had been wounded in the left 
arm, just below the elbow. He seemed so pleased 
that 1 went on to say that I had been languishing in 
an Austrian dungeon ever since, and had only got 
out by poisoning the gaoler. You never saw such 
a change as came over the old boy ; it beat the 
young woman to a frazzle. He jumped up from 


168 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


the bench, just as if he hadn’t been dead for a 
century or so, and began to wave his arm over his 
head and shout. I couldn’t understand the words 
but there was something about “ Italia ” and 
“Tedeschi” in them, so I suppose it was all 
right. 

“ He is almost a hundred years old,” said the 
Cloud, in a voice full of proprietary interest. “ It 
would please him if you were to kiss him.” 

I am always anxious to please, but 1 felt that I 
must not neglect my real business. The young 
woman had sat down at a table by a heap of char- 
coal in the corner by the door, and she seemed to 
be crying. I was sorry to disappoint the old man 
but I hate seeing a woman cry. “ About the baby,” 
I began. 

“ It is very good of Miss L’Estrange,” she said, 
in a voice like the wailings of a lost soul. “ It is 
too late. They have taken my baby.” 

“ The son of my sister is but this moment re- 
turned,” the Cloud explained, getting ready to shed 
a few drops of rain. “ A man had called with the 
money and taken Bimba away. Was it not so, 
Beppo ? ” 

A boy of about fifteen, a handsome little devil, so 
far as you could see for dirt, turned up at my elbow 
from under the table I suppose, for there didn’t 
seem room for him anywhere else. He was one 
of the most artistic pictures of desolation I ever 
saw. 

“ A man had called with the money and taken 
the baby,” he said. “ It was this morning. Not 
three hours ago.” 

“ It was this morning. Not three hours ago,” 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 169 


repeated the Cloud, as if it was something too 
clever to be missed. 

“ This morning,” the Williamson girl was be- 
ginning, but I cut in before her. “ Don’t you fret 
about that,” I said. “ I was the man. The kid 
is all right. He is — I forget where he — or 
she — 1 mean, it, is at the moment — but it’s 
there all right. That’s what I came to tell 
you.” 

“ It is there all right,” said the Cloud, who 
seemed to love playing Greek Chorus. She said it 
without any kind of expression, as if it were a tuft 
of grass and she were chewing it. 

“ It is there all right,” said Beppo, with a 
masterly assumption of tragic joy, though I believe 
myself that the whole thing was boring him to dis- 
traction. 

The girl didn’t say anyhing. She just lifted her 
eyes to me, and I could see the little lines of joy 
running round her face under the paint, like a 
Catherine wheel just beginning to go off. 

I was feeling a bit embarrassed wondering what 
to say next, when the Cloud saved me the trouble. 
First she enveloped the girl and kissed her. Then 
she did the same to Beppo. Then to me. Then 
to the old man, who had been miaouwing away to 
himself in the corner all the time. She had been 
eating garlic and stale fish and quite a lot of other 
things. 

When I had recovered a bit, I climbed on to the 
charcoal heap behind the girl’s table, where I felt 
moderately safe, and told her all about it. She 
repeated everything I said to the Cloud, as if to 
assure herself that I really was there, and the Cloud 


170 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


said it all over again to the boy and the extinct 
volcano, who didn’t want to hear it a bit and kept 
on swearing under his breath all the time. 


CHAPTER XVII 

When I had finished my story and was going on to 
consider the best place for the girl to go with her 
baby so that she could be sure no one but her 
friends would know of it, the Cloud started another 
kissing steeplechase. She got the girl and the boy, 
who, I suppose, were used to it, but I managed to 
dodge her. “ And now,’* she said, when she had 
finished, “ we will all go to fetch Bimba — all of us 
together. And Nonno with us.” 

I hated spoiling sport, but I couldn’t quite see 
myself trailing over to Jersey City with that com- 
bination. I don’t know how I put it, but in the 
end I managed to fix things up so that only she 
and I and the mother should form the cutting-out 
expedition ; the Cloud, because we could hide 
behind her if we were attacked by pirates ; the 
mother, because there was no possibility of keeping 
her out of it ; and I because I was the only person 
who knew where the baby was to be found. I 
didn’t feel so sure of that either after all I had gone 
through. 

One other point wanted a lot of management, 
though I felt it had to be done — to get the girl to 
wash her face, I mean. I am not a proud man, and 
there weren’t three people in New York that knew 
me, but I could’t fancy myself wandering round any 


172 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


civilised city in company with a decorative scheme 
like hers. I managed rather well. I put it all on 
Inez’s shoulders. I said that her last orders to 
me before going away were that I must get baby’s 
mother some new clothes — not that those she had 
on weren’t altogether first-chop, but so that she 
shouldn’t be recognised by people she didn’t want to 
recognise her. I am half afraid the girl tumbled to 
it, though I was as diplomatic as I knew how to be, 
but the Cloud didn’t, and she backed me up like 
the Great Wall of China. Her mother’s second 
cousin, twice removed, was a dealer in ladies’ 
costumes of all ages — or so I understood her to say 
— and sold everything that the heart of woman 
could desire. We three would visit her store, 
which was in the next street, and buy what 
was wanted, and meanwhile Beppo and Nonno 
would prepare a slight pr^nzo to celebrate the 
occasion. 

1 went. I felt Inez would have expected it of me 
— and, curiously enough, the girl knew just how I 
felt about things without my saying a word. After 
they had spent an hour or so going over a pile about 
as big as a house, of some of the fustiest clothes 
with which mankind ever obscured God’s image, she 
picked out something I might have chosen myself — 
dark-blue tailor-made, as plain as no matter, and a 
plain little hat with a single feather, and plain black 
shoes, things I wouldn’t have minded my own sister 
wearing when they were new. Gave one a new 
insight into that sort of girl’s character, somehow. 
It wasn’t a bit to the Cloud’s taste. She would have 
preferred something tasty in purple and yellow 
stripes. She held her tongue, though, and I only 


I VO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 173 


found it out by accident. I felt she had been so 
awfully decent that I should like to show her I 
appreciated it. I couldn’t offer her money, of course, 
so I suggested that she should honour me by allow- 
ing me to beg her acceptance of a hat for herself as 
some little memento of the extremely auspicious 
circumstances of our first meeting. There never 
was such a smile — two miles of it if there was an 
inch. She hung in the wind a bit at first ; thought 
it might be scarcely proper, and her husband — old 
Nonno, if you please — might be jealous. You should 
have seen the way she looked at me sideways as she 
said it, bashfully nibbling the end of her little finger. 
It would have moved a corrugated iron roof to tears. 
Then she plunged right into the middle of things 
and came up gasping with a hat that would have 
covered the Serpentine with a foot to spare either 
way and decorated with more kinds of flowers and 
brighter than they could have risked in the Garden 
of Eden without blinding the animals. She wouldn’t 
let go of it for an instant once she had got it, nearly 
murdered her mother’s second cousin by suffocation 
over a matter of twenty-five cents in the price, and 
finally wore it all the way home, blocking up the 
traffic with it as if she had been a Fifth of November 
Thanksgiving procession. 

We had the pranzo in the shop, with half the 
East Side to cheer us on to it. There weren’t any 
windows or other luxuries like that to interfere with 
their view — not that anybody seemed to mind that^ 
except myself. Couldn’t have been a more con_ 
venient place, for that matter. If you wanted ^ 
garlic bub you only had to lift your hand to wher^ 
a garland of them hung over your head. If yo 


174 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


wanted a bit of stale dried fish there was a gover of 
it just behind me, and if you wanted a dill pickle — 
which is what they call gherkins over here — there 
was a sort of bath of them under the table that kept 
on splashing over on to my boots. 

It was a wonderful spread, considering all things. 
There was a salad made of capers and anchovies 
and hard-boiled eggs and salad-oil, and there was 
an omelet filled with things that looked like tadpoles, 
and there was ravioli swimming in rancid butter, I 
think it must have been, and there was cheese that 
would have turned a bone factory green with envy, 
and sausages in silver paper that would have made 
a Dyak head-hunter pale with longing, and macaroni 
and tomatoes in every possible combination, and 
several that weren’t possible. I couldn’t eat much 
myself because, as I explained, I had just lunched, 
and, as I didn’t explain, the planked shad and the 
oysters were a little stand-offish. There was wine 
too, though I have done my best to forget it ever 
since. And there was the Cloud wreathed in smiles 
and presided over by the Garden of Eden, and the 
old gentleman so sunk in oil that he might have 
been a preserved specimen in a hospital, and Beppo, 
whose very head swelled with the spaghetti he put 
away. And there was a paper bundle of what the 
Cloud called ‘Toscani,’ limp, black cigars that 
looked like ladies’ hair-curlers. They were, too. 
The Cloud gave them to me solemnly as a set-ofF 
against the hat, I suppose, and she lit one for me 
herself with her own fair lips, and I had to begin on 
it. I got rid of it under the table just in time, 
though. I daresay it gave an added flavour to the 
dill pickles. 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 175 


I can’t pretend to enthuse over our trip to Jersey 
City, even now. I suppose the Chinese torture of 
the thousand sword-cuts would be worse, but I 
didn’t think so at the time. Everybody else was 
quite happy : that was one comfort. The Cloud 
took a sausage along in her pocket, in case we 
might feel faint by the time we had crossed the 
Hudson. She gave me a flask of what called itself 
‘ Stravecchio Chianti,’ with the same idea, but I lost 
it on the way. When we left, old Nonno, who had 
got it into his head that we were marching to be- 
siege the Vatican, I think, produced a huge Italian 
flag from somewhere — it looked as if he had been 
sleeping in it — and waved it at us until he got quite 
wrapped round in it, like a red-white-and-green 
cocoon. 

We got there all right, by the Hudson Tube, 
without starting a riot or anything. I spotted the 
place first time, and when we got to the top of 
the steps I felt it was time to put my foot down. 
The mother wanted to come up to the house with 
me. The Cloud didn’t say anything, but I felt she 
was much the more dangerous. 

“ This is what is going to happen,” I said, as 
firmly as I knew how. “ I am going off to fetch the 
baby, and you two will wait for me here. After I 
have told the woman that its mother is dead, and 
it is alone in the world, it wouldn’t do to have two 
more mothers turning up unexpectedly. I shall 
explain that a dear uncle has died, the one I was 
staying with, and that his widow wants the baby 
to be present at the funeral. Don’t laugh, please. 
On second thoughts — well, if you can think of any- 
thing better, I am listening.” 


176 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


She did laugh outright at that, the first laugh I 
had seen on her. It improved her face quite a lot. 
“ I think I should say that — that a sister of baby’s 
mother has arrived from the West, having only just 
heard of the death, and that I insist on taking her 
away with me. Then it will seem natural that I am 
with you.” 

I shook my head. “ If you came you would 
start kissing it, and show you weren’t only an aunt, 
after all. Aunts never kiss babies, except under 
compulsion. Hate it, really. No ; you must 
wait here with the Cloud — with Mrs. Ferrati, I 
mean — and I will bring the kiddie to you. It isn’t 
far.” I was going to add, “ That’s one comfort,” 
but I stopped myself in time. 

I found the house quite easily, so I need not have 
worried myself. I knew that we had gone uphill 
from the station, because I had argued with Mrs. 
Pash all the way about carrying the kid. And I 
remembered that at the top we had passed a big 
chapel or institute of some kind, that dated from 
the Revolutionary War, or the Civil War, or the 
Democratic Convention, or something equally 
venerable, because it wasn’t quite finished. The 
house I was after was three blocks off, the fifth 
down a side street, and painted a bright purple, 
with pink trimmings. 

The woman — lady, I mean — of the house was 
out, but her husband was in and more or less awake, 
and he made no difficulties at all about my carrying 
off the kid, when he found I didn’t want to carry 
off my three months’ deposit as well. The kid was 
in bed, with two others, but the man seemed to 
know which was which and generally more about 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 177 


infants than I did ; and we managed between us to 
get it more or less dressed, and the things we 
couldn’t find room for we shoved into the stringy 
little valise. The baby wasn’t a bit sleepy, and I 
think its finger-nails had grown a little. 

Alice would have said that the girl wasn’t “ nice,” 
and, of course, she wasn’t, but she was fond of her 
kiddy. As soon as I had given it to her the Cloud 
very sensibly wrapped itself round me, and we went 
off for a walk arm-in-arm, as if the one thing that 
would make life worth living for us was to stare at 
a huge advertisement-poster at the corner of the 
next block, that said : “ Four million smart young 
chaps are wearing our ten-dollar ready-to-wear 
Tuxedo Suitings. Follow the crowd.” 

On the way the Cloud told me that the girl had 
turned up outside the Plague-pit at three o’clock in 
the morning, with a black eye and her clothes torn 
half off her back. She hadn’t been able to give 
any clear account of what had been happening to 
her beyond that Dago Frank had quarrelled with 
another man called Picky Something, whom he had 
run up against unexpectedly, and Dago had stabbed 
Picky with a knife and the girl had stabbed Dago 
with a hatpin, and he had kicked her in the eye 
while they were all rolling on the sidewalk together, 
with the crowd cheering them on. Then other 
people had joined in and guns had gone off, and 
there must have been quite a healthy breeze of 
excitement ; and in the general muddle the girl 
bolted for her life, and had the sense to make for 
the Cloud’s sanctuary. 

I gathered, of course, that Mr. Frank was the 
man Inez had seen in Broadway, and that he was a 

12 


178 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


friend or partner of the amiable Mrs. Hugo. 
Whether Mr. Picky was a rival trader or merely a 
casual acquaintance, was not so clear. He turned 
up quite at the right time anwway, and on the 
whole 1 felt I rather liked him. 

What between yammering for her kiddy and 
declaring that she knew she had been followed, the 
Williamson girl must have given the Cloud rather 
a warm time of it. But she behaved like the 
Temple of Karnak, took her in and did for her and 
sent round the Fiery Cross to all her pals of the 
Camorra and the Mafia and the Carbonari and the 
Black Hand and the other Co-operative Murder 
Associations on her visiting list. She only did it 
to please the girl, she explained, because she was 
quite prepared to hold the Plague-pit against the 
whole United States Army on her own, if it came 
to it, and from what I had seen of her, I believe she 
would have done it too. 

We agreed that it would be better to get the girl 
and her baby away from New York as soon as 
possible, in case, and the Cloud thought she might 
be able to fix up something with a nephew of her 
deceased great-aunt who kept a steam laundery 
somewhere in the back-blocks of Massachusetts. 
Meanwhile she promised to look after both of them, 
and when I said something about her letting me 
know the expense she was put to, she said that her 
name was Carlotta and she was a figlia superba of 
the Val d’Arno. Her short way of saying, “ I 
don’t think.” A jolly old sort the Cloud was. 
Whenever I was with her I felt like one of Ovid’s 
young men, expecting all the time that the Cloud 
would dissolve and Venus or Diana or some one 


IVO TALBOYS* NARRATIVE 179 


step out of it and propose on the spot. They never 
did though. 

When we got back the girl was still down on her 
knees on the side-walk, muzzling into the baby’s 
face as if it wasn’t shapeless enough already. She 
didn’t see us at first. When she did, she took the 
kid by both its fat little arms and pretended to 
make it charge at us like a devouring dragon. 
Then she made it say by proxy some rot about 
trying to show her gratitude for all we had done 
for her, which I didn’t listen to. 

I don’t suppose Alice would have thought much 
of her ; it seemed to me she was wonderfully 
decent. I let the kid practise opening sardine tins 
on my eyes all the way back to the East Side. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


It was too late when I got back to the hotel to 
do anything but send off another wire to Inez in 
Chicago. “ Double event. Hercules left at the 
post,” I said. And then I sat down and wrote her 
a long letter about it. 

The next item on the programme was to find 
Miss Seaton and give her her grandfather’s wallet. 
As I had an address to go upon that seemed nothing 
after what I had done already. I didn’t know the 
Linworth Building then. 

I started off bright and early, by the subway next 
morning. I wanted to see what it was like, and 
when I got to the Brooklyn Bridge Station, I 
wasted quite a lot of time trying to borrow a bit 
of string to tie my clothes more tightly round me 
so that I should look decent. I was eleven inches 
smaller round the waist than when I got into the 
train. When I had time to look for the Linworth 
Building, which a policeman told me was on Broad- 
way just opposite, I could only see a bit of it, 
because a thunderstorm was going on about half 
way up. But I saw enough to what our burglar 
friend meant. I had counted a hundred and fifty 
floors before a policeman moved me on for obstruct- 
ing the traffic, and there were about thirty or forty 
more above the thunderstorm. 


I VO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 181 


I made up my mind that the best way would be 
to start from the top and keep on working down 
unlil I struck the right office, if I lived long enough. 
It meant rather a waste of time at the start, because 
I went up in what they call an express elevator, and 
I had to wait at the top while I sent down the 
nigger boy to find my stomach, which I had mislaid 
somewhere about the second or third floor. 1 
worked it out that there must be something like 
four hundred different sets of offices in the building, 
and allowing four minutes for each I ought to get 
down to the ground floor a little before two o’clock 
next afternoon. 

1 am rather proud now when I think how I stuck 
to it, because it did begin to grow monotonous after 
the first thirty or forty calls. I built up a sort of 
formula by that time. I used to open the door and 
put my head in deprecatingly and take my hat off 
and say politely to the first person 1 saw, ‘‘ I beg 
your pardon, but would you be so kind as to tell 
me if Miss Seaton — Miss Estelle Seaton — is em- 
ployed here ^ ” Then whoever it was would look 
up and scowl and say “ Nop.” Then I would say, 
“ Thank you very much. I am exceedingly sorry 
to have troubled you,” and they would say, “ Yup,” 
and I would close the door behind me and start off 
again. I felt like banging it sometimes. 

I forget how many times I drew blank. I know 
I had got down to the twenty-seventh floor, because 
just then the offices began to broaden out and there 
were more of them. The third along the corridor 
I was in had got “ Robert A. Walters Company, 
Inc.” written on it, and when I opened the door 
there was a big lobby inside with a table and sofa 


182 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


and things and a little rabbit hutch in the far corner, 
where a red-haired girl was sitting. 

I drifted across to her and put my usual question, 
and was half-way back to the door again when she 
pulled me up short. She didn’t say “ Nop.” She 
said “ Yup.” 

I stood and stared at her. “ 1 beg your pardon,” 
I said. “ But did 1 understand you to say ‘ Yup ’ ? ” 

“ Nop,” she said. 

I began to thank her as usual when she pulled me 
up again. “ Say,” she said, “ is it Miss Seaton you 
want to see ” 

I said it all over again in case she might mis- 
understand. “ Then you can’t,” she said, “ because 
she left a week ago. And who are you any- 
way ^ ” 

She looked so offended that I did not know what 
to say. “ A she-devil, that’s what Estelle Seaton 
is,” she said, bouncing out of her seat and coming 
towards me, as if it was my fault. “ And if you are 
a friend of hers you can tell her I say so. Molly 
Rooney is my name, if you want to know it.” 

I didn’t at all, but I only said it was very grati- 
fying. She was evidently Irish, and if the worst 
came to the worst I decided to call myself 
O’Malley. 

‘‘ And it’s myself that doesn’t care that for your 
Estelle Seaton,” went on Miss Rooney, trying to 
snap her fingers in my face, only as she was very 
short they only reached to my waistcoat. “ Molly 
Maguire or no Molly Maguire.” 

‘‘ Certainly not,” 1 told her. “ Not for a 
moment.” 

“ It is English you are yourself,” she snapped 


I VO T ALBOVS’ NARRATIVE 183 


out, getting more and more furious every minute. 
“ And don’t ye be afther denying it.” 

It hadn’t occurred to me to deny it or I daresay 
I should have. I was just going to call for help 
instead when a door on the left of the lobby opened 
and a lady put her head out. I could have kissed 
her, I-was so grateful, but I thought it might offend 
her too, and I dare not risk it. So I only explained 
that I had called on the chance of seeing Miss 
Seaton, but that as I understood she had left I 
would not intrude. 

I am Miss Barker,” she said. “ Is there any- 
thing I can do for you ? Or perhaps you had better 
see Mr. Walters.” 

Without waiting for me to answer she went back 
into the room again. The red-haired girl had gone 
back to her hutch and was sobbing angrily. I felt 
I should like to explain that I hadn’t insulted her 
intentionally, so I followed Miss Barker into a room 
that had one of the most gorgeous views I ever saw 
in my life. 

I always used to think before I met Estelle, that 
the world would be a much better place if there 
weren’t any women in it, but allowing that there are 
a necessary evil, the American business woman 
strikes me as about as useful a type as you need look 
for. Miss Barker was a good specimen of her. She 
was about forty, with grizzled hair and gold pince- 
nez and the usual white silk shirt-waist — as they 
call a blouse over here. A thoroughly good sort, 
in fact without any frills or furbelows and not more 
femininity than was necessary ; you could talk to 
her as reasonably as if she had been a man. I felt 
chummy with her from the very beginning. 


184 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


She was American all right, because, as soon as I 
said I didn’t want Mr. Walters, she started right off 
with “ You are English, of course ? ” 

I told her that 1 was English and that I thought 
no end of her country and that I should think even 
more of it when I had had time to see something of 
it, and that I didn’t know anything about the 
Presidential Election. 

It went off very well indeed, and I felt the atmos- 
phere getting quite balmy. She told me that she 
was of English descent herself and that her people 
were a branch of the Heston Barkers of Heston 
Barker, probably a corruption of Heston Pauca, or 
possibly of Heston Phoca — because seals often came 
ashore there — in Northumberland, who had been 
settled in Peebleshire before the coming of the 
Danes and had been among the most prominent 
supporters of Harold at the battle of Stamford 
Bridge, I think it was, and had come over to 
America forty-eight years before the Mayflower^ and 
been F.F.V’s — whatever that means — ever since. 
I though it would interest her, so 1 told her that 
Miss Seatton was of English extraction too, only not 
so old, because her people only fought at Agincourt. 
That was a mis-cue, as it turned out, because the 
Barkers fought at Agincourt and didn’t remember 
any Seatons there and didn’t believe they were there 
at all, because it was a Scotch name and connected 
chiefly with some rather disreputable hangers-on of 
Mary Queen of S cots. I got out of it all right by 
saying that the Seatons fought on the French side, 
through a misunderstanding, and that was one of 
the things I wanted to see Miss Estelle about. I 
said I was her brother— I thought that would 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 185 


prevent any suspicion of scandal— and I had come 
on purpose. 

‘‘ I thought you said your name was Talboys,’* 
said Miss Barker. I suppose I had, but I had clean 
forgotten it. “ It interested me,” she went on, 

because there was a Taillebois at the battle of 
Sluys, where one of my ancestors gained an armorial 
augmentation.” 

I said that was so, and that my name used to be 
Seaton too, only I had married recently. I was a 
was a bit worried and not thinking exactly what I 
did say. 

She laughed, and said she had thought it was the 
other way about and that I was only thinking of 
getting married in the near future. I was beginning 
to tell her that was all right, because I was a widow 
by marriage, but fortunately she interrupted, before 
I had got too deep, to say that it wasn’t any affair 
of hers, but unfortunately Miss Seaton was no longer 
one of their staff. 

I was just getting up to go with the usual 
apologies when she stopped me and asked me if I 
didn’t want Miss Seaton’s present address. I could 
see she scented a love-affair, so I looked as confused 
as I could and twisted one leg round the other and 
tried to blush into my hat. She studied me for a 
bit, with her head on one side, and at last said she 
thought see would be justified in giving me the 
address. She had always liked her, as they were 
both of British descent, and she had been sorry 
when she left. 

I couldn’t help asking if it had anything to do 
with the red-haired girl. They had a political 
argument, she told me, and Miss Seaton boxed the 


186 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


red-haired girl’s ears, and things got so lively 
generally that one of them had to go, and Miss 
Seaton offered, though she wasn’t at all in the 
wrong, because the red-haired girl had a father and 
two brothers to support, and would not be likely to 
get another place soon because of her temper. 

Miss Barker had heard from Miss Seaton only a 
week before, that she had good prospects of getting 
a new position at a better salary, and that she was 
staying at Probityville, Long Island, in the mean- 
time. If I saw her I was to be sure to give her 
Miss Barker’s love, and say that she hoped to be 
asked to any public ceremony she might be thinking 
of taking part in. She looked so arch as she said 
it, and her pince-nez sparkled so, that I was quite 
dazzled, and instead of getting out my usual little 
speech I could only thank her no end, and beg her 
to drop in whenever she was passing, and tell her 
she really need not send a boy to show me the way 
to the nearest street-car, as she very kindly offered 
to. 

I felt a bit sore to think how much time I had 
wasted finding out what I knew already, especially 
as the only address Miss Barker knew in Probity- 
ville was Box Number something at the post office. 
But after I had had some lunch — it was only half- 
past eleven, but I felt like it— and sent off a wire to 
Inez : ‘‘ Pecked at the water-jump, but going 

strong,” I felt better. I knew that Probityville 
wasn’t far from New York, thanks to the old 
gentleman, so I started off at once and got there by 
three in the afternoon. 

It was a nice quiet little country town, with one 
main street running from the railroad depot down 


IV^O TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 187 


towards the sea about a mile off, and lots of clean, 
little white frame houses, and a general air of peace 
and contentment that made me think of Somerset. 
It had quite a venerable feel about it, exeept for a 
beastly new red-brick post-office block that they 
had just run up in the middle of the main street 
where it broke into two arms, and a cinema theatre 
opposite that looked as if it had started life as a 
farmer’s barn, and was sheeted all over like a race- 
horse, with bluggy pictures of battle, murder, and 
sudden death, with all the firearms carefully blacked 
out so that the characters should only look as if 
they were slinging mud at each other. 

The post-office struck me as a good sort of place 
to start on, so I wandered in and nearly fell over a 
patriarch in a goatee and a slouch hat who was 
sitting on a bench by the door, with one leg cocked 
over the other, staring at his boot as if he was 
trying to remember where he found it. I didn’t 
know whether the Government might not pay him 
to do the agreeable, and as 1 couldn’t see anybody 
behind the wire bird-cage that shut off the office 
part, I turned to him. He started off like a Dutch 
clock before I could open my lips. He supposed I 
was an Englishman. His grandfather came from 
Camberwell, a village in Surrey county, England. 
He preferred a Britisher any day to a Dago. He 
didn’t take much stock in Nyark, and America 
wasn’t what it used to be in his young days, and it 
seemed likely the Democrats would sweep Nassau 
County, colonel or no colonel ; and there was a 
Russian had taken up old Silas Wedge’s homestead 
way out on the Hemstead pike, and when President 
Garfield was a boy the South didn’t take no stock 


188 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


in the boll-weevil, and he hadn’t any use himself for 
those automobiles, no, sir. He was giving me a lot 
more interesting information like that, without any 
break in it, and I was wondering how long it took 
him to run down, when another conscript father, 
who might have been his twin, sailed in from the 
street with his main-spring wound up to the last 
notch. He had to let the alarum run for a little ; 
his great-grandmother came from Bristol, England, 
and you might lay on all the prohibition you cared 
to, but if a man wanted a drop of rye, or it might 
be bourbon, he would always know where to get it. 

It was rather like an opera, because as soon as 
each had done his bit of solo they started off 
together to tell me that Miss Seaton didn’t live in 
Probityville any more, because she was in the city, 
and had rented her lot to a family from Brooklyn, 
and was boarding for the summer with old Miss 
Prosser — not Miss Tom Prosser, because she was 
dead, and her husband had moved over Good 
Ground way, nor yet Miss George Prosser, who 
was living over at Hemstead since last fall, but 
Miss William Prosser, who farmed a piece on 
Franklyn Avenue, a mile, or perhaps it might be 
two miles, out beyond the depot. They started 
arguing whether Miss Tom Prosser died of grip or 
just faded away after she lost her little Marne, and 
as I felt they could settle it without my help I 
imitated Miss Prosser. 

I set out to walk, but it was a beastly hot day, 
and the road was chiefly dust, and I passed a livery- 
stable about a hundred yards up the street. I 
thought I might treat myself to a drive for the 
credit of England. I think the proprietor must 


IVO TALBOYS* NARRATIVE 189 


have been prejudiced against English people, because 
he never once asked me if I was one, and for all he 
said to the contrary his parents might have been 
as American as he was himself. However, he 
trusted me with a buggy, a noble old relic that 
looked as if it might have been owned by the doctor 
who attended Washington’s mother at his birth. It 
had a cover like a four-post bedstead, and curtains, 
and a horse and a driver, who told me that the 
horse could do the mile in three minutes if he was 
put to it. He seemed to prefer walking, though, 
and the driver sympathised with him, and never 
spoke to him sharply even when I said I was in a 
hurry and was paying by the hour. The driver 
didn’t think much more of me than the proprietor 
had, especially when I told him I had never been 
farther West than Paterson. He didn’t think much 
of Long Island either, or of anything else except 
going to California. The only Long Islanders he 
had any respect for were some Indians whose graves 
had been dug up somewhere near Probityville. I 
gathered that the only reason he thought well of 
them was because they were dead. I was quite 
glad when we got to Mrs. Prosser’s farm before his 
melancholy goaded him to some rash act. 

Miss Seaton certainly had taste, I thought. She 
had hit upon as pretty a little place as you need 
look for. It was a sort of island in a big lake of 
Indian corn-fields that stretched away all round it to 
a great semicircle of woodlands all aflame with the 
most gorgeous autumn — I mean fall — tints. There 
was a quaint old house — wooden of course — quite 
grown over with creepers and set in a bower of 
grand old cherry-trees. It was the prettiest place I 


190 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


had seen in America, and I took it as a good 
omen. 

Miss Seaton was not in, and neither was Mrs. 
Prosser, but a little girl who seemed to be keeping 
house told me that Mrs. Prosser had driven over to 
Hemstead, which seemed to be a local New York, 
and that Miss Seaton had gone over to Oak Beach 
to bathe. Oak Beach was somewhere in mid- 
ocean, and you went to it in a boat that started from 
a crick, and when you went to it you nearly always 
stayed till the last boat back, which didn’t start till 
seven. It struck me that 1 could do with a swim 
myself and spy out the land at the same time, so I 
left a message in case I missed her, and got the 
driver to wake up Pegasus, and we dashed off at 
three good miles an hour to find the crick. 

The boat happened to be just starting, a funny 
old tub of a motor-boat that made me think 
Columbus didn’t rely altogether on sails. It was a 
very jolly trip, over a smooth lagoon so shallow that 
you might have walked most of the way, and the 
water so clear that you kept wondering why you 
didn’t jolt over the ruts, and glorious air and a 
glorious clean white sunshine that made you want 
to sing. I expect I should have, only, for reasons 
of space, I was sitting in the chief engineer’s lap, 
and he might not have liked it. 

It was called Oak Beach, I suppose, because it 
was an island and had no trees on it — only miles of 
topping sands and dunes, overgrown with sea-grass 
that looked as if it liked it, and a huge old barn 
with a big veranda that called itself an hotel, and a 
scattering of little wooden bungalows, with plank 
paths leading from one to the other, and wooden 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 191 


bathing boxes and a glorious frothing sea outside, 
over which you could tell the time by Big Ben if 
only your eyesight was good enough. They were 
just on the point of shutting the place up for the 
winter, and there were very few people about, but 
after a bit I found a sort of bathing-box colony kept 
by a Swede who had forgotton his own language 
and never found time to learn any other. I really 
did sing in my bathing-box while I was undressing. 
I sang, “ Drink to me only with thine eyes,” until 
the sand-flies got to work, and then I sang another 
tune. Great whoppers they were, with bright green 
heads and a nasty eye, who just settled down on 
any unoccupied promontory and dug their teeth in. 
They were lazy brutes, and it was easy enough to 
swat them, but that didn’t do much good, because a 
jury of about twelve always came at once to visit 
the scene of the murder and punish the assassin. 

There were only a few people in the water : it 
was a lot rougher than it looked, and they mostly 
kept close to the shore, dancing on a rope. There 
was only one head showing a good way out. I 
couldn’t see at that distance whether it was a man 
or a woman, and after I had rounded up the others 
and decided that none of them answered up to the 
description of Miss Seaton, I thought I would 
swim out and prospect. 

The bathing-box man had fitted me up with a 
dandy costume, except that it was a shade too big, 
an Oxford arrangement with a neat little kilt hung 
around it, the sort of thing a patriotic Highlander 
would wear in bed on the anniversary of Bannock- 
burn. 1 felt I should pass muster anywhere outside 
the fathom limit, and off I set, doing the dog-stroke. 


192 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


in which 1 rather fancy myself. It was a nasty 
choppy sea, and a keen wind snapped the crest off 
the breakers and slapped you in the face with them. 
If I hadn’t seen from the rise of one that it was a 
woman, I believe I should have turned back. It 
was a young woman too, and as pretty as a picture, 
although her head was tied up in a blue bathing- 
cap with two peaks sticking up in front like 
donkey’s ears. 

I had provided myself with a first-class excuse for 
speaking to her, about the strength of the ground 
current making it dangerous to go so far out ; but 
just as I got within speaking distance a whip-lash of 
spindrift jumped up and hit me in the eye. It con- 
fused me, and before I knew it, I was saying that I 
believed I had the pleasure of speaking to Miss 
Fanhope. As if that wasn’t idiotic enough I must 
needs try to bow and take my hat off. Quite a 
difficult thing to do in anything of a sea, and next 
thing I knew I was about six feet under water, 
trying to coax my heels down from heaven. 

I finished spluttering before she had finished 
laughing, which broke the ice a bit, though I could 
see a sort of wary expression in the corner of one of 
her eyes. I asked her if I wasn’t speaking to Miss 
Seaton all right that time, and it was her turn to 
duck. ‘‘ How do you know my name ? ” she asked 
when she came up again ; and when I tell you that 
she was pretty even then you can get some idea of 
her beauty. You aren’t Mr. Babbington ? But 
of course not. You are English.” 

Evidently then, it wasn’t the clothes. I had been 
flattering myself that people took me for English 
because old Crowley turns me out rather well. I 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 193 


was just going to ask her how she guessed, when I 
remembered that we weren’t on chaffing terms yet. 
“ I am not Mr. Babbington,” I said. “ My name 
is Talboys. Ivo Talboys, and I am English. I 
have brought you a message from your grandfather.” 

She didn’t duck then, but she opened her eyes, 
lovely eyes, true blue, not the china kind. “ My 
grandfather,” she said. “ But 1 haven’t got one.” 

“ If you wouldn’t mind coming on shore,” I said, 
“ I think 1 can prove to you that you have.” 

I wasn’t feeling particularly conscious of looking 
like an ass just then, but I could see it was all she 
could do not to laugh. ‘‘Very well,” she said gaily 
and quite taking me for granted. “ Then I will 
race you back to the shore.” And she started off 
at once, without waiting for me to accept, which 
meant that she sneaked a good ten yards. 


13 


CHAPTER XIX 


There is a lot of rot talked about falling in love at 
first sight, but it isn’t every man who can bring it 
down to within five minutes either way. I can 
within three. It certainly wasn’t more than that 
between the time I first saw her and when she tried 
to cheat me out of a fair start. I couldn’t have been 
in love with her before, naturally, and I certainly 
was afterwards, because, so far from resenting it, I 
thought it was quite right and proper. What is 
more, after the first few strokes, when I found I 
could swim round and round her, if I wanted to, in 
a sea like that, it came quite natural to me to let her 
win. She swam very well, with no end of a power- 
ful breast-stroke, though without much turn of 
speed. She won by about twenty-five yards — and 
loved it. I was so blown — or looked it — that I 
could scarcely get out of the water, and she loved 
that even more. I had to be blown, because I had 
to get a moment to think. To fall in love with her 
and swim races with her and that sort of thing was 
jolly enough, but it didn’t do away with the fact 
that for all I knew, her grandfather might be lying 
dead in New York at that moment. 

I needn’t have worried myself. 1 was to have 
plenty of time. After she had caught my hand and 
helped me to stand up against the backwash of a 


IVO TALBOYS* NARRATIVE 195 


big wave, while we laughed as if we were a couple 
of kiddies, she suddenly stopped and stared at me 
and began to get red all over. “ It — it — you,” she 
stammered. “ Oh — how dared you ? ” 

It would be difficult at the best of times to look 
dignified, standing on the open beach in a bathing 
suit and a short kilt, with the water cascading, sharp 
little pebbles over your ankles and between your 
toes. I was so taken aback that I must have looked 
a more than usual ass. I thought she had guessed 
that I had let her win. ‘‘ But, really, you know,” 
I stammered. ‘‘ You won quite fairly. Really you 
did. Honest Injun.” 

She looked puzzled herself, but what she said 
puzzled me a lot more. “ You — you — then — aren’t 
you — you are the waiter. Of course you are.” 

I was so stunned that I could only flutter my 
hands feebly as if they were fins and I was a 
hydrocephalic herring. “ Do I — do I look like 
a waiter ? ” I asked her piteously. I had got it 
into my head that it might be the custom on Long 
Island for waiters to swim out after you with ices or 
drinks, and that perhaps she took me for one of them. 

She must have thought I was trying to be funny, 
because her lips quivered a bit and she turned her 
head away. “ You had better wait until I have 
dressed,” she said. 

I suppose every man thinks his own wife the most 
beautiful woman in the world — or did once — or else 
he wouldn’t have married her. But it isn’t every 
man who dare look at his wife, or even his sweet- 
heart, in bathing costume. Personally, I have never 
come across a bathing-dress that suited a woman 
wet, especially the hideous American sham-French 


196 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


variety, with shoec and stockings and the Lord 
knows how many furbelows all limp and draggle- 
tailed ; but I can only say that as I watched Estelle 
walking away from me across the sand, I felt like 
Balaam’s ass after the angel had spoken to it. 1 
don’t know how long she was away — she says it 
takes her half an hour to get her hair alone into 
shape after bathing ; but when she came back I was 
still standing there with my toes sunk about two 
feet in the wet sand and a sort of idiotic grin on my 
face. She didn’t even smile though ; all she said 
was, ‘‘ I am ready now. What is it you have to say 
to me ? ” 

Naturally I must choose that precise moment to 
remember that I had left the wallet, with ;^500 in it. 
lying loose in the bathing-box for any one to nip off 
with who felt like it. ‘‘ If you will excuse me for a 
moment,” I said, only too glad of the excuse, “ I 
will fetch you what I want to say.” And off I 
toddled, as fast as I could go, feeling her eyes 
burning two holes in my shoulder-blades as I went. 
She held the odd trick of course — trust a woman, 
even the dearest for that. She had been wearing 
shoes and I wasn’t, and there was some confoundedly 
sharp little pebbles lying about, and the places 
between my toes were full of them already. I 
must have looked like a Christian martyr walking 
on burning ploughshares, only less dignified. I 
paddled along somehow, and got the wallet and my 
shoes and wrapped a towel round my shoulders and 
put my hat on and came back with more dignity 
than I went with. She was still looking puzzled. 

“ I am sorry I thought you were the waiter,” she 
said apologetically. “ I can see you aren’t, now.” 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 197 


I told her I was no end glad, but I could not see 
why she was so sure of it. 

She tried not to laugh, but at last she bubbled 
over like a soda-water bottle when you unwire it 
too quickly. “ Only because you would smash every 
plate you touched before you had carried it a yard. 
You haven’t any whiskers, either.” 

I was rather glad I had not been wearing my 
shoes after all. 

‘‘ Please forgive me,” she said again, after another 
gurgle. But you are so like him.” 

I thanked her. I didn’t quite see what else there 
was for me to say. 

She blushed at that. She is perfectly lovely 
when she blushes. She always is — only more than 
usually then. “ I don’t mean that. Not like any 
waiter. Like one in particular.” 

I am not a bit given to flashes of intuition, but 
something told me at once that she meant Basil. 
We are very like each other, to start with ; and if 
there is one thing I should expect dear old Basil to 
be, if he was broke, it would be a waiter — a head 
waiter of course. If he wasn’t that he would be a 
cook. It is a curious instance of genealogy if that 
is the right name for it — but all the aristocratic side 
of us has gone to Basil and all the shoemaker side 
to me. Through our mother we are supposed to be 
descended from the Emperor Thedosius in the 
direct line. I don’t suppose any one of his descen- 
dants was ever so well qualified to play the part as 
dear old Basil. Even when we were kiddies I 
always used to think he was like a butler ; and 
I suppose a butler is the nearest thing to a Byzan- 
tine Emperor we have nowadays. I don’t say he 


198 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


wouldn’t have done as well as a cook. I shall 
always remember — and all the other fellows in the 
dormitory will too, I expect — the wonderful messes 
he used to make over the gas at Harrowby in the 
old days. One of his invention was a combination 
of a box of sardines, a loaf of bread, and the cheese 
out of the dormitory mouse-traps — there were six 
of them — all held up on a toasting-fork over the gas, 
so that the oil from the sardines permeated the bread 
before it was too toasted, and then the bubbly bits 
of the cheese were scraped off and spread upon it. 
I don’t remember Theodosius’ favourite dishes, but 
I would not mind taking a moderate bet that he 
never invented anything half so popular as that 
was, let alone the grand manner in which Basil 
used to divide it, seeing that all of us got our fair 
share both of the sardine oil and the cheese 
bubbles. 

I hadn’t said so to Inez, because I know she had 
her own idea of what a peer ought to be ; but I had 
quite made up my mind that if Basil was in New 
York I should find him in one of the two professions 
that take themselves seriously nowadays — either a 
head-waiter or a cordon bleu. I felt more sure of 
my ground now. 

“Would you mind giving me the address? ” I 
said — “ the waiter’s address ? I have wanted to 
meet him for a long time.” 

“ He is — but then — you are not ? ” 

“ Not at all. He is my brother.” 

“ Did he send — you will find him at Bull’s Chop 
House, on Thirty-fifth Street. I have lunched 
there several times. How do you know he is 
your brother ? ” 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 199 


“ It is really more important to know who you 
are than who I am. If you wouldn’t mind having 
a look at this.” I held out the wallet towards her. 
“ It would tell you who we both are, and lots more 
as well.” 

“ But it will take hours to read all this. And I 
really know who I am.” 

‘‘ You think you do,” I answered, with a 
perfectly idiotic grin. I must ask you to remember 
that my only claims to human dignity at the 
moment were my hat and my shoes. If you re- 
member Thackeray’s very bad drawing of Louis 
XIV. with and without his robes of office, you will 
know how I felt. “ But you don’t, really. It — it 
is so easy to make mistakes. If — I mean — if you 
skip — you will be able to get at the gist of it 
inside of ten minutes.” 

I took as long as 1 could over dressing, and when 
I had finished I spent half-an-hour on a sand-fly 
hunt. I bagged one hundred and twenty-seven in 
that time, rather good, I thought. When I had 
hung it up as long as I decently could, I went back 
to look for her. She had moved along a bit and 
found a snug corner among the sand-dunes where 
the wind couldn’t get at her. She was so busy 
reading that she didn’t even look up when I spoke 
to her, only waved her hand to me as a sign to hold 
my tongue. I didn’t mind, because it gave me the 
chance to stare at her without seeming rude. I 
could only see the top of her hat. It was of black 
straw, with a long orange feather, that made her 
look like Dick Whittington. Her dress was of 
blue serge, with a white silk blouse and the sort 
of jabot arrangement they used to wear in the 


200 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


eighteenth century. She had tan gloves — only she 
wasn’t wearing them — and tan shoes and stockings. 
She was half lying down against the sand-dune and 
was so wonderfully graceful that if she had been an 
eight of an inch different either way, she would 
have been wrong. I stood and stared at her for 
about half-an-hour as if 1 had been an Irish terrier 
looking at the fire, so I know. 

She must have felt my eyes on her, because before 
she had quite finished, she lifted hers. I saw that 
she was beginning to blush, so I pulled my face 
away and stared up at the sky as if I was wondering 
whether any aeroplanes were likely to be passing. 
I nearly got a stiff neck before I dared look down 
again, and I should not have even then if 1 hadn’t 
heard a glorious little trill of laughter come from 
somewhere near my feet. She was sitting up and 
holding something out towards me. It was the ring 
her grandfather mentioned, crest and all complete. 

“ Am I not to read this ^ ” she asked, holding 
out a sealed envelope, with Inez’s writing on it. I 
hadn’t noticed it before, so I was interested. She 
had written : ‘‘ Not to be opened until you see 
me again.” 

“ I don’t know what is in it,” I had to say. 
“ But I don’t suppose you had better.” I wished 
to goodness I had let her afterwards, as you shall 
hear. 

“ Then I have finished,” she said, making up the 
papers into a neat little roll. “ And I should like 
to be alone for a minute or two if you don’t mind. 
I want to think.” 

I was just going when she stopped me. ‘‘ Would 
you mind telling me how you came by this ? ” 


IVO TALBOYS* NARRATIVE 201 


“ My sister-in-law ” I was beginning. “ Gave 

it to me.” 

“ Oh ! She is Miss L’Estrange, then ? ” 

“ That’s right. Mrs. Basil Talboys, to be exact. 
And ” 

“ And her husband is the waiter ^ ” 

“ I hope so, I am sure. I have come over to 
look for him.” 

“ And — and Kitty Something ? ” 

“ I have roped her in all right. And the kid too. 
You needn’t worry about them ; they are all 
right.” 

“ You have — already ^ ” 

“Pure luck. If you had read what your grand- 
father said about ” 

‘‘ I have.” She began to laugh again. 

“Not overburdened with ” 

“ But he changed his mind at the end. See 
here ” 

I didn’t feel like arguing the point, so I wandered 
off and left her staring out over the sea. I walked 
about a hundred yards along and sat down on a 
tuffet of grass where she could find me when she 
wanted to, and amused myself throwing pebbles 
at an old dried-up king-crab about as big as a 
banjo that was lying about on the beach. I don’t 
know if he was overburdened with brains before- 
hand ; he didn’t have many left by the time I had 
done with him. I hit him four times out of six, 
and I only wished I had stopped a little nearer her 
where she could have seen me. 

When she came along at last I had just plugged 
in a glorious shot, right amidships, and it cheered 
me up as she could scarcely have missed it. She 


202 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


held out her hand to me and shook mine 
warmly. 

“ I am afraid I have been very rude,” she said ; 
“ but, of course, it upset me a little. I want to say, 
right now, that I like you very much, Mr. Talboys, 
and I am very grateful to you indeed.” 

She pronounced “ very ” as if it were spelt 
“ vurry,” but 1 was so far gone by that time that I 
am not sure I didn’t prefer it. 

I stood on one toe and goggled like a sick frog. 
I couldn’t say anything. 

She waited a bit to give me a chance to say 
something, I suppose, but I was too busy clinging 
to her hand and shaking it in case she should want 
to take it away. 

I haven’t ever known any — any young men 
intimately,” she went on, ‘‘ so if I seem rude to 
you, or don’t treat you as you ought to be treated, 
you must put it down to that. I have lived with 
an old lady all my life until ” 

“ You treat me just as if I was an old lady,” I 
told her. “ I shall ” 

“ But I don’t even know how I ought to speak 
to you. You are a lord’s son, aren’t you ? Ought 
I to call you ‘ my lord ’ ? ” 

She took her hand away as she said that, and I 
came down from heaven and struck the earth with a 
dull, hard thump. “ Good Lord, no,” 1 said. 
‘‘ People who like me always call me Tuppy.” 

“ Then I shall have to call you Tuppy as well, 
because I do like you very much.” 

I fell all round myself trying to say that I should 
esteem it the greatest honour of a long and glorious 
career. “ The best thing you can do,” I finished 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 203 


up, ** is to treat me as if I was an old lady not over- 
burdened with brains and called Tuppy.” 

She didn’t pay much attention. I could see that 
she was still thinking about what she had just been 
reading. “You will think me very silly,” she said 
at last, “ but it is only because I don’t know. Am 
1 anything ? ” 

I was just going to tell her what 1 thought she 
was, which would have surprised her, but, for- 
tunately, she interrupted me. “ My — my grand- 
father is — I don’t quite know what he is, but he 
seems to have all sorts of titles. I was wondering 
if that made me anything.” 

I wanted badly to tell her that she had the right 
to be called “ Your Imperial Gracefulness ” and 
served on bended knee, but it would only have 
been found out. “ The Fanhopes are no end of an 
old family,” I said. 

“ That means I am not anything. Old families 
are as common as — as logan berries with us. Of 
course it doesn’t matter much to you English 
people, but I should have just loved to be called 
‘ my lady ’ or ‘ your ladyship.’ They would have 
appreciated it so much in the village. And now — 
stand still, please.” 

I stood still while she straightened out my coat 
collar, which had got rucked up when I put it 
on in a hurry. “ We must find my grandfather 
first,” she said when she had finished. “ If you 
are ready we will go back to the landing-stage. 
The five o’clock boat starts in a quarter of an 
hour.” 

I was agreeable to anything, but as all I could 
think of to talk about was how badly I loved her, 


204 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


and as she was obviously trying to orientate her 
new position we scarcely said a word until we came 
to the hotel-barn. “Do you like ice-cream? ” she 
asked me when we got there. 

“ Old ladies called Tuppy always do,” I told her. 
If it had been a question of carburetted hydrogen I 
should have said the same thing. 

“ Wait here for me,” she told me, and I waited. 
She came back with two little cornucopias of vanilla 
ice done up in wafers. She handed me one. “ You 
mustn’t eat it until we are on the boat. I have a 
small cantelupe here too, and some crackers.” 

When we went on board she led the way up a 
doll’s staircase to the upper deck — a sort of canopy, 
so thin that it felt like walking on the top of an 
open umbrella. The other passengers didn’t risk 
it, so I had her all to myself with a beatific wind 
blowing her hair all ways at once under her hat and 
the sparkling blue air throwing reflections up from 
the water on her face and the big hotels on the 
distant shore looking like Venice in the sunset. 
We ate the ice-cream and the biscuits and the 
melon, which she cut up with a silver knife ; she 
was quite angry with me when I offered to cut it 
with a steel one, and she wouldn’t allow me to eat 
more than a certain amount of each, because she 
said it wouldn’t be good for me. It was one of 
those times that you never forget if you live to be 
a hundred, and the only drawback I found was that 
I couldn’t lie down on the umbrella and offer her 
my head as a footstool. 

When we got to the crick she started off at once 
up towards the town, without telling me what she 
meant to do. I trotted along beside her, as happy 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 205 


as a poodle with a new collar, until we reached a 
long, low white building with “ Goodlake’s ” written 
up over it, just before you came to the railroad 
tracks. “ I am going in to take a room for you,” 
she said. 

“ Am I going to stop here to-night, then ^ ” I 
had thought I was going back to New York, but 
she knew best. 

She nodded, very decidedly. “ It would be too 
late to make inquiries at the Bowling Green to- 
night. There is a train at 8.25 in the morning. 
We will catch that. So you must go to bed early 
to-night.” 

I didn’t say anything. I was too pleased to find 
that we were going together. She didn’t either ; 
she was too busy making terms for my bed and 
breakfast with the old lady who received us. First 
of all she made her promise to get me out of bed in 
time to catch the train ; then she went straight away 
upstairs to choose my room for me. When she 
came down she told me it would do very well, and 
that the bathroom was on the other side of the 
corridor, and that she had settled with Mrs. Good- 
lake what I was to pay, and all that before I had 
found breath to beg her not to trouble herself, 
because I should do all right. 

It was quite dark by the time she had settled 
everything and came to where I was still standing 
in the entrance-lobby to tell me that she had 
arranged with Mrs. Goodlake to let me have some 
of her husband’s night-things and a clean brush and 
comb. “ There is a drug store just opposite,” she 
said. ‘‘ And they are to send over the first thing 
and buy you a tooth-brush. And now, good-night,” 


206 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


and she held out her hand. “ I know Mrs. Good- 
lake will see that you are comfortable.” 

“ But you are not — ” I had to stammer a bit to 
give my courage time to stretch itself. “ I am 
going to see you home.” 

“ Indeed you are not. I can go by myself, quite 
well.” 

“ It is as black as the inside of a full-blooded 
negro,” I told her. 

‘‘Good-night,” She held out her hand again. I 
tried to pretend that I was not trembling with fear, 
but with determination. 

“ You really must let me come with you. Please.” 

She shrugged her shoulders the least bit in the 
world and smiled. “ If I must I suppose I must. 
But it isn’t at all necessary, really.” 

“ Look here,” I said, growing bolder as I caught 
sight of her relenting. “ Would you rather I did 
not come ^ ” 

“ I — no — I should ” 

“ Then that is settled.” 

It was a black lonely road after we had crossed 
the railway tracks, and I should have been glad not 
to let her go alone in any case. As things were I 
was like a kiddy that had just learned the best way 
to smash a new toy. When we had gone about a 
quarter of a mile, I began to sing. I was half way 
through the first verse of “ The Bonnie Banks of 
Loch Lomond ” before I remembered, and pulled 
myself up. 

“ Please forgive me,” I said. “ I can’t help 
singing when I am happy. I always want to sing. 
And to skip in the air. And to make little dust- 
pies and throw them over my head like an elephant.” 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 207 


‘‘ You musn’t do that,” she laughed. “ It would 
dirty all your beautiful clothes. But you may sing. 
You have rather a nice voice — for an old lady. And 
skip, if you want to.” 

“You must sing too, then.” 

“ But I don’t suppose we know the same songs.” 

“ Let us sing, ‘ God save the King.’ You can 
sing that. It is the same tune as your National 
Anthem.” 

“ It is my National Anthem, sir. Very well.” 

“ One. Two. Three. Go.” 

We sang four verses of it. We could neither of 
us remember the words, after the first two lines of 
the first verse, so we sang “ La la la la la-la ” and it 
sounded just as well. 

We never met a soul on all that celestial high- 
way, and before we had gone very far the jolly old 
moon popped his face up over a great blue velvet 
wood on the right to see who was making all the 
noise. He got right into our heads at once, and 
before we knew it we had joined hands and were 
skipping, or prancing, or leaping, I don’t know 
what you call it exactly — side by side, like a pair 
of kiddies just let out of school. I don’t know 
how many stars we knocked out of the sky ; but 
when at last we stopped, for sheer lack of breath, 
she gave me both her hands and we stood there, 
staring at each other in the moonlight and positively 
rocking with laughter. I expect we should have 
looked idiotic enough if there had been any one to 
see us — and it might have been idiotic enough in 
some people ; but we were just right, and it seemed 
the most natural thing in the world. 

We had only a few yards to go before the grove 


208 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


of cherry trees loomed up. She stopped again. 
“Now, mind. You are to go straight home and 
have your supper, and be in bed by ten. Do you 
promise ^ ” 

“ Honest, Injun,” I said. And ” 

She held out both her hands, quite naturally, so 
that I could see she didn’t think anything of it. 
“ Good-night, Tuppy,” she said. “ No. I won’t 
call you Tuppy. It isn’t nearly nice enough for 
you. Just good-night.” 

“ Good-night,” I began. And then I hesitated. 

“ You may if you want to,” she said laughing. 

“ Good-night, dear Estelle,” I said. It was 
wonderful how well we understood each other, 
even then. I knew exactly what she meant. She 
has told me since that she could have bitten her 
tongue off after saying it, because, not knowing 
much about young men, she thought I might have 
taken it as an invitation to kiss her if I wanted to. 

“ Good-night, Ivo,” she called after me, when I 
had gone about twenty yards. When I turned she 
was still standing where I had left her, all glimmer- 
ing in the moonlight — and she waved her hand to 
me. 

“ Good-night, Estelle,” I shouted back, and I 
added “ darling ” under my breath. 

I began to sing “ Rule, Britannia ” after that, and 
waved my stick in the air, and went altogether 
raving mad with happiness, until just in the middle 
of a wild gambado I nearly ran over a nigger 
woman as she came out of a side track into the road. 
She grunted out something about “ Lawd, have 
mussy,” and fled back into the darkness again. I 
quieted down a bit after that. 


CHAPTER XX 


I WAS at the depot at eight next morning, and the 
8.15 train was there at 8.34 ; Estelle did not turn 
up until nearly a quarter to nine. The three- 
quarters of an hour I spent in deciding that she 
had been taken suddenly sick in the night, that 
the farmhouse had been burnt down with all hands, 
and a dozen similar possibilities, each gloomier than 
the last. It never entered my head that she might 
simply have overslept herself. 

When she did at last hurry over the tracks my 
fears faded into absurdity, and I made up my mind 
to meet her with the simple dignity of uncomplain- 
ing reproof. I didn’t though, because she looked 
even more adorable than I remembered her, and I 
could only run forward, lobster-faced with delight, 
and murmur asinine variations on the theme that I 
was pleased to see her. 

“ I am so very sorry,” she said. “ It is the first 
time it has ever happened to me.” 

I told her that I quite understood, that she had 
been worrying herself with the thought that I 
might not be comfortable at Goodlake’s, and had 
been kept awake half the night in consequence. 

“ I expect that was it,” she said, smiling. “ But 
don’t you think you had better let go of my hand ? 
We have at least twenty pairs of eyes staring at us, 
you know.” 


14 


210 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


I hadn’t known I was holding it, except by the 
sense of loss when she drew it away. If you 
remember that all this happened at nine in the 
morning, when I was no more than half awake, you 
can imagine how hard I had been hit. 

“The next train is at 9.18,” I said, to try and 
look as if I had been bustling about seeing to things. 

“ We are not going to New York. I have 
changed my mind. We are going to drive over to 
the other side of the island instead.” 

“ Yes,” I said ; “ and when do we start ? ” 

We were on our way up Franklyn Avenue by 
that time. She stopped then and faced me sternly. 
“You are a dear, patient thing,” she said. “But 
you mustn’t. It is very bad for me.” 

“ What is ^ ” I really wanted to know. 

“ When I was so shamefully, piggishly late at the 
depot you never so much as frowned behind your 
hand at me. If it had been the other way about I 
shouldn’t have forgiven you the whole day. And 
now, when I say anything, you — you — you just wag 
your tail.” 

“ That is just what I feel like. I love wagging 
my tail.” 

“ I don’t like it. I don’t like saints — they depress 
me. So if you really are a saint please try to hide 
it when you are with me.” 

“ I’m not a saint— I’m only a deep schemer. It 
is like this : I want to make you like me — awfully — 
more than anybody in the — I mean I want you to 
like me. So, naturally, I cast about for the best 
way to do it. And ” 

She looked at me with real sorrow in her eyes 
that brought me up with a jerk. “ Then I really 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 211 


do seem like that to you,” she said pitifully. “ You 
think I really am masterful and — dictatorial — and 
domineering. No, please let me finish. I am not 
really, not the least bit in the world. It is only 
because — because I am such a very weak creature, 
and know it. You could make me do anything you 
liked if you only tried hard enough. Anybody 
could — especially if they bullied me. And — and 
what you think so horrid in me is only my poor 
little defensive armour. I am like the snail, that 
has to have a hard shell to live inside if it is ever to 
get through the world at all.” 

I was going to make some chaffing reply, about 
wishing I was a bit of lettuce, or something silly, 
but I saw that she was really in earnest. So all I 
said was, “ I do understand, really.” I did too, 
because I am rather like that myself, 1 sometimes 
think. “ And now, won’t you tell me why we are 
going — why you want us to go across the island ? ” 

I was glad I had said that, from the look in her 
eyes. “It is really almost by accident,” she said, 
as we started along the road again, “ I was looking 
through those papers again last night, and I came 
across the name of Hertzenstein. I hadn’t noticed 
it before with any attention. I remembered then 
that Mr. Hertzenstein has a country-house not ten 
miles from here — over towards Melrose, on the 
north side of the island. I asked Mrs. Prosser, 
who knows everything, and she says it was in 
yesterday’s papers that they are down there. So 
I thought it might save time if we drove over that 
way and then caught the train to New York at Port 
Theodore. It would seem quite natural for you to 
call in there, as my grandfather says you flirted so 


212 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


desperately with the daughter ; and you could find 
out if — if they know anything of where my grand- 
father is.” 

I managed not to show anything, but I didn’t like 
the idea one bit. As I had mentioned to Inez, I 
had got myself into rather a ridiculous position as 
regards Miss Hertzenstein. Fortunately, she is the 
sort of girl who makes a hobby of falling in love, 
and getting engaged, and breaking it off, and all 
that sort of thing. My idea had been to keep away 
from her until she should have the time to get en- 
gaged three-deep to other people. I had a good 
excuse in her father’s attitude towards me. On the 
last day of the voyage he made it quite clear that he 
didn’t want any members of an effete aristocracy 
hanging around after his daughter. When we said 
good-bye, he invited me to pay him a visit to 
Chievely Manor, his place near Melrose, as soon 
as I could, and stay as long as I liked ; making 
it fairly obvious that, if I did come, I should find 
man-traps and spring-guns waiting for me. His 
daughter, in seconding the invitation, made it 
equally plain that I had got to come whether I 
liked it or not. I never believe in dividing a house 
against itself or setting up a child against its father, 
so, as I say, I decided to defer that visit until Miss 
Elvira was married, or near it. 

I couldn’t very well explain all this to Estelle at 
the time, though I wished I had afterwards. That 
she wanted me to go was enough for me, so all I 
said was that it was a ripping idea, and I was ready 
to start when she was. 

I shan’t forget that drive in a hurry. We had the 
Prosser buggy, with a horse that could do the mile 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 218 


in two minutes, I think it was. Long Island is full 
of racing-track champions like that, if you can be- 
lieve all you hear, though I suppose there is a police 
regulation that they mustn’t travel faster than three 
miles an hour. They never do at any rate. It was 
quite a new buggy — not more than fifty or sixty 
years old at the outside, and it had two seats, which 
meant that the driver sat in front and I had Estelle 
all to myself. It was another grand day, and quite 
hot for the time of year. We jogged along through 
miles of woodlands, all flaming in the most gorgeous 
autumn colours and quite putting the sun out of 
countenance. I suppose they got into my head 
after a time, because, when we had gone about half- 
way, and suddenly came out of a patch of woodland 
on to an open common, I stopped the buggy and 
told Estelle that I wanted to walk a bit. I didn’t 
really ; only to get out of earshot of the driver. 

I hadn’t in the least expected it ; even less per- 
haps, than she had. When it did come, it was all 
over and settled in two sentences ; about as ex- 
peditious an affair as you could want, even in 
America. She was in tremendous spirits, and as 
soon as we got down she asked me if I wanted to 
go birds’-nesting. Then it came. 

“ It isn’t the season,” I told her. ‘‘ I wanted to 
walk so that I could tell you that I loved you.” 

“ I know,” she said. “ And I love you.” 

We calculated that she had begun to love me 
about ten minutes after I began to love her. It was 
when she saw me hobbling over the pebbles without 
any shoes on that she knew it first, because she 
wanted to run in front of me and clear them out of 
the way. 


214 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


She said it laughingly, and then, without a 
minute’s interval, she began to cry. I quite under- 
stood ; 1 felt rather that way myself. There was 
a bush, with scarlet leaves, growing just beside the 
road. I don’t know what its name is, except that it 
grows in heaven ; and it was just comfortably big 
enough for two to hide behind. I won’t say all 
that we said to each other, because it was too sacred, 
and 1 daresay too silly, according to the point of 
view. The only practical moment was when she 
asked me suddenly : “ And you weren’t really in love 
with Miss Hertzenstein ^ My grandfather seemed 
to think 

“ Good Lord, no ! ” I said. It came out suddenly ; 
the idea was so out of key with what I was feeling. 

She began to talk about ourselves again then, and 
gave me no further chance for explanations. I can’t 
say I was very keen about them just then. 

We must have taken a good long time over what 
we had to say too, because the first thing that brought 
us back to the lower earth again was the sound of 
wheels, and I just got out in time to stop the buggy 
from trotting back home again. The driver said 
he thought we must have changed our minds about 
going. He was a stolid-looking ass, but I didn’t 
feel like arguing with any one just then. I asked 
him if he could sing instead. He was a curious 
person ; at first he seemed quite annoyed. When 
he saw at last that I was in earnest he said he could 
sing “John Brown’s Body.” I found Estelle knew 
it too, and then I told him that would do. First of 
all we got all the branches we could lay hands on 
from the bush of Paradise, and any others that were 
handy, and decorated the buggy with them until it 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 215 


looked like the wood of Birnam, and then we all 
sang “John Brown’s Body” for half an hour, 
astonishing the natives as we passed, and after that 
we arranged the leaves so that they made a service- 
able screen, and Estelle and I retired into private 
life for a time. We told the driver to go on sing- 
ing, because he had a charming voice and we loved 
to listen to it. It turned out that he agreed with 
us, especially about his rendering of a song about 
an old man called Ned who hadn’t any teeth, and 
he sang that at least twenty times, to all our 
satisfactions. 

I never want to see a prettier little village than 
Melrose was when we got to it. If it was in France 
or Scotland it would be a show-place and crowds of 
Americans would flock over to see it. It was a 
jolly little white place at the end of a long inlet that 
runs up from the Sound, with wooded hills tumbling 
all round it and endless peeps of blue water and 
white sails through the trees. I fell in love with 
the place and everything in it except a beastly new 
clock-tower arrangement that had just been set up 
in memory of the Jubilee or the Coronation or 
Bunker Hill or one of Mr. Roosevelt’s speeches — I 
forget which. I didn’t mind even that much ; I 
could have found beauty in an ash-heap that day. 

We lunched at the Walnut Tree Inn, an imitation 
coaching place very much older than the real thing 
would have been. Afterwards we arranged that I 
should go up to Chievely Manor and spy out the 
land, and if the General was there, or they knew 
where he was, I was to come back and report 
progress in an hour. 

She walked part of the way with me, and we had 


216 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


only just said good-bye — as tenderly as one does for 
the first time, and I had faithfully promised that I 
wouldn’t get myself killed on the way — when I ran 
plump up against Miss Hertzenstein. She had 
probably seen us ; we were too busy to notice any- 
thing more than two yards off. She was on horse- 
back, and a very pretty picture she made, with her 
dark eyes and her slim figure, sitting astride and 
looking as if she had grown there. She had a man 
with her, one of the square-chinned type of 
American — a good-looking fellow in his way. 
Seeing him cheered me up a lot, especially as he 
didn’t look a bit pleased to see me. She had pulled 
up before I saw her. I was still looking back, 
waving good-byes to Estelle. She was so elaborately 
unconscious that I knew she must have seen every- 
thing, and on the whole I was glad of it, even if 
it meant an unpleasant ten minutes in the near 
future. 

“ So you have come at last,” she said, bending 
over her saddle to shake hands. “ Earl, this is Mr. 
Talboys, whom you have heard us talk about.” 

I didn’t like either the words or the way she said 
them, but I only bowed to the man, whose name, it 
seemed, was Hapgood, and was some kind of a 
lawyer. 

Miss Hertzenstein was so effusive that I scented 
danger ahead. I saw where it was coming from a 
minute or two later. “Earl,” she said, “give Mr. 
Talboys your horse.” She spoke just as if he was 
a groom, from which I gathered that he must be 
pretty sweet on her. “You know the short cut, 
and he doesn’t.” 

I should have refused at once, of course, only he 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 217 


didn’t give me any time. “ Why, sure,” he said, 
and he was on the ground in about three-quarters 
of a second. It struck me as being a bit over- 
generous until 1 looked at the horse, and that ex- 
plained it and the sort of half-grin on his face. 
“ Sure you’ll be able to manage her ? ” he asked 
carelessly. She was a wicked-eyed chestnut, with a 
worse grin than her master’s, and ears that she 
didn’t seem able to keep still. 

I rather fancy myself on a horse, as it happened, 
and I was dying for the chance to punish Miss Hert- 
zenstein by proxy. I looked as nervous as I could, 
and said that I used to have a Shelty when I was a 
kid, and I thought I could manage to stick on some- 
how if she was very quiet. Hapgood was a bit 
worried, I thought, but he didn’t say anything even 
when I borrowed his crop and asked him to lend 
me his spurs, as it would be easier to stick on with 
them. He wasn’t going to, only Miss Hertzenstein 
nodded to him so sharply that he solemnly unbuckled 
them and gave them to me without a word. 

He wasn’t a bad fellow at heart. When I topped 
up by trying to mount on the wrong side he came 
forward, and said the mare was a bit skittish with 
anyone she wasn’t used to, and he thought it might 
be better if I walked. 

‘‘ Nonsense,” said Miss Hertzenstein angrily. 
“ Mr. Talboys had hunted with — the Belvoir, 
wasn’t it ^ He told me so himself.” 

“ I have often been to the meets,” I said. “ We 
always drove though. You can see quite as well.” 

Say this thing has gone far enough,” said 
Hapgood as I made another attempt to mount, on 
the right side for a change. “ I’m no murder ” 


218 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


But by that time I was in the saddle, and the 
circus had started. I couldn’t hear what else he had 
to say, because the mare started by bucking over a 
couple of houses that got in the way, and then 
threw four or five double somersaults, and then 
bumped my head through the gates of heaven, so 
that I only missed Saint Peter by a miracle, and 
then started playing leapfrog over its own nose and 
generally enjoying itself. I played a few monkey 
tricks, to encourage Miss Hertzenstein, until the 
brute began to get tired, and then I introduced her 
to the spurs, and we made a little excursion to 
Montauk Point, and over the Sound, and up to 
Albany, and then back by New York and Brooklyn, 
and so on. Miss Chestnut got tired of it before I 
did as it happened, and when we got back about 
five minutes later I was quite sorry for the poor 
beast. I was jolly glad for myself though, because 
a little crowd had turned up out of nowhere, and I 
saw Estelle at the back of it. It made me show off 
more than I meant to — my experience is that being 
in love makes you no end of a bounder in that 
way. 

Hapgood was still standing where I had left him, 
so I thanked him for offering me the mount. I 
said she was a little too fresh for me, and I was 
afraid 1 should fall off and hurt myself, so I wouldn’t 
trouble him after all. He wasn’t half a bad sort, as 
I had suspected ; shook my hand quite warmly, and 
actually wanted to make me a present of the brute, 
because, he said, I could manage her much better 
than he could. When I had refused he asked me 
for my address at New York, because he would like 
to see more of me. I had an inspiration at that 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 219 


moment. I told him that I was a waiter at Bull’s 
Chop House on Thirty-Fifth Street, where I should 
be happy to wait on him with cleanliness, civility, 
and the best of cuisines at any time he cared to call. 
Then 1 lifted my hat, without seeming to notice 
Miss Hertzenstein, and was just walking away when 
she pulled her horse right across the road in front 
of me. 

“ If you will wait a moment,” she said, ‘‘ 1 will 
leave my horse at the Walnut Tree, and send down 
for it later. Then we can all walk up together.” 

I realised then that if I had had any sort of sense 
I should have let the chestnut throw me, and so 
have been rid of my difficulty for good and all, 
instead of which, by my stupid conceit I had only 
made things ten times worse. I did the best I could 
under the circumstances. I was extremely sorry to 
have interrupted her ride, I told her, but I had a 
friend with me. I had only intended calling to see 
if anything was known of Mr. Moresby. 

“ But he is here. He is stopping with us. He 
has been here ever since he landed. He is nearly 
well again.” 

That staggered me a bit, as it was about the last 
thing I had expected. I learnt later that they had 
behaved very decently to him. They insisted, in 
the first place, on giving him a lift to his hotel in 
their auto, which is how I came to miss him at the 
wharf. On the way, he showed signs of having 
another of his heart attacks, so they took entire 
charge of him, got their own doctor to him, and 
ran him straight off to Melrose, sort of prisoner on 
parole, until he should be all right again. I can’t 
imagine English people of their position taking 


220 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


all that trouble over a stranger. I must say the 
Americans are wonderfully decent in that way. 

Before I had time to answer, Miss Hertzenstein 
bent down and put her hand on my shoulder so 
that she could turn the full candle-power of her 
eyes on me. “ Do come,” she said pleadingly, 
“ to show that you forgive me. You were splendid, 
I can’t tell you how I admired you.” 

I don’t mind saying that I liked being flattered in 
that way ; most men would. But it is easy to be 
strong when it is impossible to be anything else. 

‘‘ I am sorry,” I said, as coldly as was polite. “ I 
am here with Miss Fanhope, Mr. Moresby’s grand- 
daughter.” We should hope to call later in the 
afternoon, I went on, when, if she was returned 
from her ride, we should perhaps have the pleasure 
of seeing her. 

I left her on that note, uncommonly glad to have 
had the strength of mind to be rude, but with an 
uneasy doubt all the time whether I might not have 
made things worse instead of better. 

I certainly had in one way, it turned out. I 
expected that Estelle would have been jolly glad I 
had come through so well. She wasn’t a bit. She 
was just furious. She was actually white with anger 
and trembling all over, and after about her third 
sentence she burst out crying. I couldn’t make out 
what the trouble was at first, she was so incoherent. 
It seemed that first I had disgraced myself by show- 
ing off before “ that woman,” and secondly I had 
behaved like a brute in ill-treating the poor horse 
and bringing it back all covered with foam and 
trembling. It never seemed to worry her a bit that 
the poor horse would have broken my neck if I 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 221 


had given it the least chance — and it wasn’t my 
place to remind her of it. The queerest part of it 
was that she kept on saying, “ How dared you ? 
How dared you ? ” as if it had all been some 
childish prank that I had insisted on playing after 
she told me not to. I got a little huffed myself in 
the end at being treated like a naughty schoolboy. 

“ After all,” I told her, as mildly as you would 
when you were in love, “ I really can’t see that I 
have done anything very dreadful. I am sorry you 
are offended, but ” 

“ How dare you say that ? How dare you ^ I 
am not ” 

I had better have held my tongue, but one never 
learns these things until it is too late. “ There is 
really no reason to get into such a state,” I began. 

“ Oh — Go ! Go ! Go ! ” she rapped out with a 
stamp of her foot that showed she meant business. 

“ Of course I’ll go, if you wish it. But ” 

“ I do wish it. I never want to see your face 
again. Go, I tell you ” 

The trolley line to New York ran along the road 
just outside the inn, and by bad luck a city-bound 
car happened to come along just at that minute. 
“Very well,” I said, thinking of course that she 
would stop me. “ I will catch that car, if you feel 
like that.” 

She didn’t attempt to stop me. She only clasped 
her hands and looked up at the ceiling as if she 
wondered why it didn’t come down on my head. 
I bowed coldly— I was getting quite adept at bow- 
ing coldly— and walked out of the room, very 
slowly indeed, so that she could have plenty of 
time to call me back. She didn’t. I thought 


222 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


had timed things nicely, so as just to miss the car 
by little enough to look as if I didn’t want to. Of 
course the beastly thing waited for me. 

There was no chance of getting out before the 
abomination chose to stop at its regular halting- 
place — about a three days’ run, it seemed to me. 
When it did I sprinted back to Melrose as hard as 
I could go. When I got to the inn she had been 
gone, buggy and all, for ten minutes. 

By that time I was half out of my mind, and 
nothing would suit me but to go chasing up to the 
Hertzensteins’ house. I had just sense enough left 
to ask for the short cut. It began with a little by- 
lane off the main road and then cut straight away 
uphill through the woods. I went up it as if I 
were climbing the greasy pole, one step upwards to 
two down, and when I did at last get to the top I 
was absolutely winded. The path ended at a 
plantation, and beyond it was a broad lawn, that 
would have done credit to an English park, and 
beyond that, at the very top of the hill, the Manor 
House. A fine old house it was, in what they call 
here the Colonial style, with a great Ionic portico 
fronting it, about as undemocratic a place as ever I 
saw. 

A rustic gate divided the plantation from the 
wood I had come through, and I waited by it a bit 
to get my breath and settle my looks into something 
a little less like an escaped lunatic. Then, as I 
didn’t want to show myself too soon, I followed a 
path that led through the plantation towards the 
house. I was still about fifty yards from the end 
when I heard women’s voices coming towards me, 
and something made me slip behind an old wooden 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 223 


arbour at a place where the trees had been cut back 
a bit to give a view across the Sound. I peeped 
round it, through some branches that made a 
convenient screen. Estelle and Miss Hertzenstein 
were coming towards me, both with their chins up 
in the air, breathing hard and looking at each other 
sideways, as though they were going to fight a duel. 
They stopped just before the arbour, and Miss 
Hertzenstein turned so as to face Estelle. This 
will do,” she said. “ No one is likely to overhear 
us here.” 

“ I don’t care whether they do or not,” said 
Estelle angrily. I wanted to call out and warn 
her that you must always keep your temper when 
you lose it ; but of course I couldn’t. I learnt later 
that she had started the whole thing herself, which 
made it all the more necessary. 

I can’t very well give any particulars of their dis- 
cussion, because I wasn’t supposed to hear it — and 
wish to goodness I hadn’t. I gathered that they 
were making some pretence to look at the orangery 
or the pheasantry or the Italian garden or some- 
thing, while the General was getting his things 
together. Estelle’s real purpose was to warn Miss 
Hertzenstein to keep off the grass, and Miss 
Hertzenstein didn’t seem to see it. It was one of 
the most alarming spectacles I ever assisted at ; they 
were so infinitely more in earnest than men would 
have been. I suppose that as they were sure no 
one could overhear them they felt they could let 
themselves go. The queerest thing about it all — 
or so it struck me — was that they both treated the 
thing they were quarrelling over as if he was a sort 
of wooden doll without any preferences of his own. 


224 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


who would do exactly what he was told they had 
decided for him. But all that is neither here nor 
there, and the only reason 1 mention the matter at 
all is that in the middle of things Miss Hertzenstein 
casually mentioned that she was engaged to me and 
that the only reason it had not been publicly 
announced was that her father disapproved of me. 
By the time I had recovered they had both walked 
up the path again side by side, and I could see 
them as they crossed the lawn pretending to show 
each other flowers and views and things and look- 
ing as if they couldn’t love each other dearly 
enough. I was able to sit down on the ground 
then for a bit and gasp. 

It was quite clear I couldn’t go up to the house 
then — I hadn’t the pluck to, for one thing ; yet I 
couldn’t let Estelle go without seeing her again and 
telling her — without seeing her again I mean. I 
made up my mind at last that the only thing was to 
hang about the main entrance gate, on the Port 
Theodore road, until the buggy came out. 

I had to wait more than an hour, expecting to be 
run in at any moment as a potential burglar, and 
yet not daring to leave my post for a moment. At 
last the gate opened and the buggy came out all 
right, the old gentleman in my former seat, 
positively beaming and looking as fit as a fiddle 
again, which pleased me. 

The driver pulled up when he saw me, and I 
thought the best thing was to go up at once and 
congratulate Mr. Moresby on his looks. He was 
as friendly as possible, and made a regular set 
speech, thanking me for all the trouble I had taken. 
I smiled away as gratefully as I could, but all the 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 225 

time I was watching his grand-daughter’s face and 
trembling inwardly. She was smiling too, the 
regular conventional smile that means nothing, and 
when her grandfather had finished she turned to 
him with a laugh. 

“You haven’t congratulated Mr. Talboys yet,” 
she reminded him. 

I don’t know about being overburdened with 
brains, but it never seemed to enter his chuckle- 
head that anything was wrong. He turned to me 
again, beaming more than ever. 

“ I had actually forgotten,” he said, with as 
idiotic a grin as you need look for on a summer’s 
day. “We have only just heard that we are to 
congratulate you,” he piped. “ A most charming 
young lady. You are a very fortunate young man 
indeed.” 

“ But — really you know,” I was beginning, think- 
ing 1 saw something in the way of an opening, but 
Estelle cut me short in the middle. 

“ It is selfish of us to keep him,” she said. 
“ Miss Hertzenstein is waiting for him.” 

They started off at that, both bowing and smiling, 
and left me standing there with my mouth open. 


15 


CHAPTER XXI 


1 GOT to Thirty-fifth Street a little after seven, and, 
Basil or no Basil, I felt that I deserved my dinner. 
Bull’s English Chop House, as it called itself on a 
big sign-board, hung out in front, had recently been 
rebuilt in the very newest style of antiquity, with 
wooden crossbeams and bull’s-eye windows and what 
looked like a thatched roof, though I heard after- 
wards it was made of some kind of metal shavings 
that looked the same and wear better. It was the 
same inside ; everything as old as new paint could 
make it, and furnished with the very latest ideas in 
monks’ clocks, and grandfathers’ chairs and gate- 
legged tables, and red-tiled floors covered with 
imitation anti-septic sawdust, and churchwarden 
pipes, and modern prints of old coaching scenes, 
and huge old fireplaces with iron firedogs, and 
great Yulelogs that were very much too lifelike to 
be real. Even the electric lights were made to 
look as much like farthing rushlights as possible, 
and the newest of the tables had the marks of 
whole generations of wet tankards carefully painted 
on their varnish. 

A bell-boy showed me into a big room on the 
first floor where there was only one vacant table, 
in a beastly place by the door. It didn’t worry me 
much though ; I was too much interested in dear 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 227 


old Basil’s shoulders. He had his back to me, and 
he seemed to have got fatter, but I would have 
spotted them anywhere. He was bending over a 
table at a far end of the room, taking an order. 

I walked up to him and touched him on the 
shoulder and called him by his name. He straight- 
ened up with a start and looked round, and it was 
Basil all right, except that he had shaved off his 
moustache and started a most preposterous pair of 
whiskers. He looked really pleased for a moment, 
and then his lips closed together like a mouse-trap, 
in a way I had never seen in him before. 

“A table, sir ” he asked. “Yessir. Badger, 
show the gentleman a table.” 

“ But, Basil,” I began. He just turned his back 
on me and bent down over the table again. I felt 
I had put my foot in it badly. 

He came over to me a few minutes later, when 
another waiter was taking my order. I noticed that 
the other man seemed positively afraid of him and 
nearly dropped a glass he was fiddling with at the 
time. Basil didn’t say anything, just stood by like 
a jolly old statue of impeccability until the man had 
gone. Then he produced a wine-list out of no- 
where and handed it to me with a flourish, opened 
at the champagnes. “ Sorry, old man,” he said 
under his breath, bending over me as if he was 
advising me which to choose. “ Business and 
family life don’t mix. I shall be off duty in half 
an hour.” 

I had half thought he meant to cut me altogether, 
and after what I had been through that afternoon I 
believe I should have cried. I suppose he saw I 
was pleased, because he started his official voice 


228 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


again. ‘‘ Yessir. I can recommend it thoroughly. 
Our own importing, sir. Yessir. Thank you, sir. 
Bates, a half of ’57 for the gentleman. Have the 
chill taken off, sir ? Yessir. Thank you, sir.” 

It had never struck me somehow to look for 
dignity in the average waiter, but old Basil might 
have been an Archbishop in partibus. I just sat 
and stared at him as he moved about the room, so 
that I could scarcely get through my dinner, badly 
as I wanted it. He came up once or twice to ask 
if everything was satisfactory, and when I told him 
it was all first chop he made me quite a little speech 
about it, how they always welcomed the commenda- 
tion of discerning patrons and hoped that as long as 
I remained in their city they might enjoy my 
continued patronage, when I could rest assured that 
every attention would be paid to my comfort. He 
larded it with such a lot of “ Yessirs ” that I wanted 
to laugh outright, only he looksd so portentously 
solemn. He seemed to me to have changed ; his 
face was ever so much grimmer than it used to be. 
Of course he had suffered a lot — I was just beginning 
to have some idea of what it meant myself — and, 
of course, he must have worked like a Trojan horse 
to have got where he was in the time. I thought at 
first he was only an ordinary waiter, but I soon saw 
by the respect the others paid him that he must be 
head, if not manager. 

He drifted away after a bit, and I thought he had 
gone for good, but he brought me my bill himself 
when I asked the other man for it and pretty stiff it 
was. I asked him, as a joke, what was the proper 
scale of tips in New York. He took it quite 
seriously ; said that ten per cent, of the bill was 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 229 


considered ample, although it varied according to 
the class of establishment. When 1 gave him just 
double he thanked me with a dignified deference 
that nearly sent me off into a fit of giggles, though 
he seemed to be perfectly serious. 

He hadn’t told me what to do next, so I hung it 
up over my coffee a bit, and after a time a bell-boy 
happened along and asked me to follow him. He 
took me to a little room furnished like an office, on 
the second floor, where Basil was waiting for me. 
He had taken off the number on his coat and was 
smoking a fat cigar. His manner was changed no 
end ; he quite came running towards the door. 
“ My dear old Tuppy,” he said — and then I knew 
it was all right. 

We gabbled about nothing for a minute or two 
just to work the steam off, and then I got down to 
business. 

“ So Bacchus has mounted his barrel after all ? ” 
1 asked him, laughing. We used to call him Bacchus 
at Harrowby, because he was supposed to have a 
taste for sausage-rolls and ginger-beer more than 
common. “ Making his fortune by rolling it too, 
I suppose,” 

“ I haven’t done badly, Ivo,” he said gravely. 
“ I have been very fortunate.” 

I could see he was depressed about something, so 
I felt I wouldn’t tell him about our father’s illness 
at once. ‘‘ What are you exactly ^ ” I asked him. 
‘‘ Head cook and bottle-washer, or what ? You are 
getting fat on it, anyway. And oh, Bacchus, why 
those awful whiskers ? ” 

He fingered them absently, as if he were think- 
ing about something else. “ I own this place,” he 


280 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


said. ‘‘ And two others. As to the whiskers, they 
are only temporary adornments, Tuppy, a business 
uniform. I am just opening a new place on Seventh 
Avenue. Another of my National string. It is to 
be French. All the best French waiters wear 
whiskers.” 

“ Opening another one,” I said. “ Are you a 
millionaire, or what ^ ” 

He didn’t answer that, and I could see that he 
was still thinking about something else. I felt it 
wasn’t any good waiting. “ I hope you have got a 
good manager, Basil,” I said gravely. “ Because 
you will have to give up looking after things your- 
self for a time. Do you know why I am here ? ” 

‘‘ I suppose I can guess.” 

“To trot you off home as fast as a boat can 
take us. He is pretty near the end now. And he 
wants you.” We always called our father He. 
Affectionately, I mean, of course. We all loved 
him, except perhaps Alice, and I daresay she did in 
her way. 

“ I’m afraid he doesn’t, Ivo.” He said it so 
sadly that I was quite startled. “ Rot,” I said. 
“ Don’t be a silly ass. He is always asking for you. 
And for Inez too. He never believed the lies they 
told about you, any more than I did. I tell you he 
wants you. And you have got to come.” 

He looked up at me. “ He will never want 
either of us again, Ivo. They buried him this 
morning.” 

I couldn’t believe it at first. I was fond of my 
father, and when I took it in it broke me up for a 
bit. Basil was very good to me. A brother is some- 
times a better investment than we always realise. 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 231 


When I pulled myself together a bit he told me 
how he heard of it. It was while he was snatching 
a moment for some lunch. He picked up a news- 
paper, and the first thing he saw was a paragraph 
about our father. He went on with his work just 
as usual afterwards. Said he thought he would 
have liked it best. I expect he was right, though 
I couldn’t have done it myself. 

I asked him, of course, to show me the paper, 
but he would not. He reminded me that the New 
York press isn’t run on the same lines as ours are at 
home. They had said things about our father and 
his career, and about us as well, that weren’t either 
kind or true. He said it would only hurt me to 
read them and not do any good to anyone, and the 
best thing to do was to think no more about it. 
He said that to contradict the stories or make any 
fuss about them would only stir up more scandal, 
and that our father suffered enough in this world to 
have earned a quiet grave for himself. 

He made me see it in his way at last, and so I 
never knew exactly what the rag did say. We 
started talking about other things and especially 
about the question of going home. To my 
surprise, though it was natural enough, Basil 
wouldn’t hear of it. “ There is nothing to take me 
back now,” he said. “ It is too late. He will 
understand just as well now, wherever I am.” 

“ But apart from that,” I reminded him, “ there 
are lots of business things that you must see to. 
You are a peer of the realm now.” 

He laughed. “ Nominally perhaps. But actually 
I am a New York restaurateur, and an American 
citizen. And they don’t exactly match, somehow.” 


232 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


I just goggled at him. ‘‘ You — an American. 

But you can’t be. It ” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “ Then the im- 
possible is happening. You aren’t going back 
either, if I can help it.” 

“ And what about the money that was to come 
to us. It isn’t much, I know ; but five or six 
hundred a year is something these hard times. 
And even my little bit — two hundred, isn’t it? — is 
worth something. Do you propose that Alice 
should have the lot ? ” 

“ I have attended to that already. Drafted out a 
letter to Salesby the lawyer this afternoon. I am 
giving that up — to his creditors. And so are 
you.” 

“ Really ! It’s the first I’ve heard of it. And 
what about your own creditors ? And mine ? ” 

He began to tap the lobe of his ear with his fore- 
finger as he always does when he is in earnest 
about anything. “ I am arranging for them to be 
paid off too, in time. It is like this. There is 
something like a quarter of a million to be found 
before the name is clear again. We can’t manage 
that, or anything like it, for years. But if we give 
up all we have we shall have done our best for his 
memory. And in time, if things go on with me 
as they are Jgoing, we may be able to clear it all 

The idea of Basil worrying himself about his 
own or anyone else’s creditors was so novel to me 
that I thought he must be joking. 

“ It will drive Alice half crazy,” I reflected aloud. 
‘‘ That is something in its favour.” I was not 
feeling pleased with Alice. She might at least have 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 233 


taken the trouble to send me a cable, I thought. 
As a matter of fact one was waiting for me at the 
hotel, but of course I didn’t know that. 

“ We shan’t starve, either. Not by a long way,” 
went on Basil. 

“You won’t,” I reminded him. I still was not 
sure whether he meant what he said. I think it 
must have been the last time I saw him before he 
came over here that I said something about being 
sorry he was so worried about his debts. He 
pretty nearly laughed outright. “Worried,” he 
said. “ What has put that into your head ? Let 
my creditors worry, if they like. They have lots 
more reason to.” So you can imagine that his 
change of front was a little confusing at first. 

“ Neither will you,” he went on. “ Of course I 
couldn’t ask you to consent to such a sacrifice 
without making you some sort of a return for it. 
You are coming in as my partner in this.” 

“ Am I ? ” 

“ It isn’t a new idea either. I have been mean- 
ing to ask you for some time past, only I wanted to 
be sure first it would be worth your while. It will 
mean something like ten thousand a year to you at 
first, only dollars of course. But I expect it is more 
than you are making now — since the Copper Queen 
turned you down anyway.” 

I leapt out of my chair. “ What’s that you say ? 
Miss Hertzenstein ? Turned me down ? When 
did you hear that ^ ” 

He was grinning, his old original grin. “ There 
was a lot about it in the last edition of the Evening 
Phone. ‘Interview with Mr. Hertzenstein: His 
Opinion on Penniless Aristocrats,’ and so on. 


234 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


There will be more to-morrow, especially after the 
other ” He gave a little shiver of disgust. 

“ It is only the old man, then ? ” My new hope 
died down as quickly as it had caught, and then, as 
a new idea entered my head : “ My goodness, and 

she will read all about it.” 

“ Probably wrote it herself,” said Basil, with 
another asinine grin. 

“Not her, you infernal idiot; someone else.” 
And then, as the full meaning of it came over me : 
“ Oh, ten million slack-baked devils ! ” 1 burst 
out. 

Basil has certainly improved no end. At one 
time he would have gone on making one idiotic 
remark after the other. As it was he simply 
changed the subject. 

“ Well, will you come in with me ? ” 

“ It is no end good of you, old man,” I said, 
when I had collected my wits a bit, “ but I couldn’t 
do it.” 

“ And why not, pray ? ” He was beginning to 
flare up, as he always did when you contradicted 
him. I played for safety. 

“ No end sorry, but I really couldn’t wear 
whiskers like that.” 

He laughed. “ You needn’t. You shall run the 
Cockie Leekie House I am thinking of opening, 
and dye your hair red and wear a kilt. How will 
that suit you ? ” 

“ That’s all right,” I said soothingly ; “ but what 
do you imagine Inez will say to your giving away 
half her income ? ” 

I said it purposely, but I was beastly sorry the 
next moment. He went quite green, and looked as 


IVO TALBOYS’ NARRATIVE 236 


if he was going to faint. ‘‘ We need not discuss 
my wife,” he managed to splutter out. 

As we were both feeling a bit shaken, I suggested 
after a bit that he should stroll round to the Waldorf 
with me and get a breath of fresh air. He jumped 
at the idea, and while we walked he kept on laying 
down the law about what we were going to do 
together in a strange new damn-your-eyes-youVe- 
got-to-do-what-you’re-told sort of way that quite 
startled me. It wasn’t the old don’t-care-a-damn- 
whether-I-do-it-or-not Basil one bit. It came out 
strongest when we went into the hotel and I asked 
him to have a drink with me. 

“ No, sir,” he said, “ I am riding on the water- 
wagon now, if you know what that means. And 
you are going to join me before you are a week 
older.” 

Naturally, I knew why he felt like that, and I was 
jolly glad to hear it, though I didn’t quite see why 
he should want me to suffer for his past mistakes. 
I held my tongue, though. 

I found Alice’s cable waiting for me, as I have 
said, and with it was another. It read : ‘‘ Deeply 
grieved to read of your great sorrow. I do associate 
myself with you both in bearing it. — Inez Talboys.” 

I handed it to Basil without comment, and just 
for a moment after he had read it his face lighted 
up as mine would have done if Estelle had suddenly 
turned up and kissed me unexpectedly. Then he 
went his favourite dull green again. 

“ Signed Talboys, you see,” I reminded him, to 
fix the good impression more firmly. 

‘‘Yes,” he said bitterly, “she hasn’t forgotten the 
peerage part of it.” 


236 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


I was an awful ass not to realise why he said it 
and how it wasn’t really caddish at all, whatever it 
seemed. Whether or no, I went for him, told him 
he was a cad and a coward and a few more little 
things like that, and that he had deserved all he 
got, and if he had had the slightest decency he 
would have cut his throat two years ago. Our 
nerves were both dancing on knife-edges, of course. 
He told me a few home-truths of the same kind, 
and I told him if he jolly well didn’t take them back 
I would jolly well ram them along with his lying 
teeth down his lying throat, and altogether things 
began to get brief, bright, and brotherly, and there 
would probably have been quite a healthy riot if the 
other people hadn’t begun to get up and stare at us. 

He went off at last in a wild paddy, swearing that 
he would be everlastingly confounded if he ever 
again polluted his lips by speaking to such a low- 
down, insolent, blackguardly young cub again. 
After he had gone I sat down and wrote three 
letters to Alice and five to Inez and a round dozen 
to Estelle and tore them all up and went off to bed 
and slept like a lamb. 


PART VI 

BASILS NARRATIVE 
CHAPTER XXII 

According to Ivo, I have grown thirty years older 
in as many months. I cannot be sure of that ; at 
least I know that I changed from a young man into 
an old one in the time it takes a woman to say a 
sentence of ten words. 

We often say lightly that we shall never forget 
something as long a we live. It is nearly three 
years since that moment, but I can picture the 
smallest detail as though I had just come away from 
it. I could even pick the policeman out of a 
thousand who caught at my arm as I crossed the 
road and saved me from going under a street-car. 
We stood on the corner of the street, opposite 
Macey’s, by the entrance to the Greenwich Bank. 
If I shut my eyes I can still see the figures of the 
people who passed in and out as we stood there and 
the hot black shadows they threw in the sunlight on 
the steps, and hear the roar of the trains that passed 
on the Elevated. I know very well what Queen 
Mary felt when she said that after her death the 
name Calais would be found branded on her heart. 


238 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


The shape of the quays and the outline of the 
battlements and the sparkle of the water in the 
harbour would have been found there too, I 
think. 

It is still so horrible a memory to me that a hun- 
dred times I would have crushed it out, as perhaps 
I might, with a strong effort of will. But I have not 
that strength, for it is all that I have left of her, the 
last glimpse that I had of her dear face before it 
vanished for ever in the crowd. 

I woke very late that morning. We were living 
— so to call it — in a horrible, cheap hall-room on 
West Eighteenth Street. I had been half drunk 
overnight. Not really drunk ; I was too cunning, 
or cautious, call it what you will, for that. I was 
never drunk, never so drunk that I had not control 
over myself. I was so secret that I never even 
entered the same saloon twice in one day, lest the 
bar-tender should notice me. I used all kinds of 
tricks to mask the smell of my breath that none — 
she above all — should have any suspicion. I have 
heard since that it was known — at least suspected — 
even the poor little Williamson girl seems to have 
known of it, and to have wished me dead for her 
sake. 

There was no excuse for me — none whatever. It 
came through the battle in me between self- 
indulgence and false pride. Not that I ever drank 
to excess before that terrible year. 

I was very miserable at the time. So much I can 
say for myself. It was in no way through her or 
because of her or blamable to her. She was tired 
of me, anxious to escape from me — God knows she 
had reason. But she was always patient and very 


BASIL’S NARRATIVE 


239 


long-suffering. I marvel sometimes that she had 
strength to bear with me as long as she did. 

In some way even Ivo seems to have guessed the 
truth about my leaving England. It was due purely 
to mad, selfish, unreasoning jealousy. If I could I 
would have taken her to some absolute desert where 
we should have been absolutely alone, where not 
another living creature could have spoken to her, 
have drawn her thoughts away from me, even for a 
moment. I suppose I was actually insane ; I cannot 
explain it any other way. It was for that reason 
and for that only that I brought her here, that she 
might be in a place where she could know no one 
but me. No doubt too, I thought I should be able 
to shine before her, more than I had ever done in 
England. 

I came to America, filled with that snobbery of 
nationality which is of all the most senseless and 
the most offensive. As do so many Englishman of 
my idiotic kind, I thought — if I thought about it at 
all — that I had but to show myself to be accepted as 
a superior being, conferring a favour by my very 
presence. I had nothing behind me, no trade, no 
capital, worse than no influence, for the notoriety of 
my poor father’s financial misadventures was not 
confined to one side of the Atlantic. Of myself I 
was nothing ; moderately clever perhaps, with a 
public-school education, some idea of how to enter 
a drawing-room and, of course, a firm belief in my 
star. That I had never been able even to approach 
the making of my own living in London was, I 
suppose I thought, a certain passport to success in 
New York. 

To my amazement I found that New York was 


240 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


perfectly well able to exist without my help. 
Instead of a pale Boeotian reflection, living by the 
light of London, I found myself in a place where 
London was several thousands of miles away, and of 
little more importance than it would look seen from 
that distance. America actually had a life, a tradi- 
tion, a nationality of its own, and one which 
obstinately refused to adapt itself to mine. 

We brought with us one or two introductions 
from Inez’s friends. I had been too idiotically 
proud to ask for any on my own account. I think 
my main idea had been to stay in America for a 
month or two, to make a huge fortune by sharpen- 
ing my keen wits against the dulness of the natives 
and to return in a blaze of glory. I presented my 
introductions ; I was asked to dinner to two or 
three houses, but that was all. My hosts showed 
no desire to kiss the ground I walked on. I imagine 
that they disliked me cordially ; I am quite sure 
they were right. I had, as of course we all do, 
always regarded the “ foreigner ” with the gentle 
tolerance of accepted superiority ; I suddenly began 
to realise — and I cannot describe the disturb- 
ance of that discovery — that in a city with so 
English-sounding a name, I was, after all, no more 
than a “ poor foreigner.” Ivo I know, differs from 
me in this. He says that he was at home in New 
York from the very first. But he never had a 
quarter of my conceit, insular and personal. 

When we first arrived we stopped at the best 
hotels. Personally I believe I should have continued 
to stay there until, unable to pay my bills, I had 
been arrested, very properly as a swindler. Inez, 
who was, whenever I allowed it, my better angel. 


BASIL’S NARRATIVE 241 

induced me, as the weeks passed, our small capital 
decreased, and the anticipated millions tarried, to 
seek something humbler, and thenceforward our 
downfall was rapid until we reached the hall-room 
in West Eighteenth Street. All that time I cannot 
express how very long-suffering, how very patient 
she was with me. I think for one thing that although 
she never cared for me very much — and had never 
any reason to — for it is not in her nature to lavish 
herself upon any outside object — she realised how 
passionately I loved her. It sounds hypocritical 
enough, I know — it must, certainly have seemed so 
to her — for a man to talk of passionately loving a 
woman and at the same time for him to take no care 
for her welfare, to drag her down to the lowest 
depths of poverty and anxiety, to be even content to 
live upon her poor earnings. Yet so it was with me. 
I think my love for her somehow paralysed me. 1 
was so desperate, so absorbingly anxious to hold her 
love ; I was watching so closely and so fearfully for 
any sign that she cared for me no longer ; I was so 
hideously and absurdly jealous of every other man 
— or woman or child for that matter — she spoke 
to or seemed interested in, that I had no thought 
or ability or energy for the outside things of 
life. 

I used to deceive her, day after day, about the 
actual position of things. I condescended at last to 
look for work, instead of waiting for it to come to 
me. Thereafter, if I found the faintest chance of 
it, it became in the telling a definite offer with a 
handsome salary attached to it. If I managed to 
borrow a few dollars, usually by some pretext that 
came very near to swindling — for I was so desperate 


242 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


I believe I should have stopped at nothing — I would 
take it to her with some lying story of the work I 
had done to earn it ; and then, as like as not, 
borrowed half of it back from her again. I knew 
in my heart that I was paving the way to certain 
ruin, yet so besotted was I, and so sure that some- 
thing would turn up — for not Mr. Micawber was a 
more incurable optimist than was I in those days — 
that I do not believe an angel in heaven could have 
turned me from the path I had chosen. I was so 
set upon raising the cloud of anxiety from her 
dear eyes, if but for a moment or two, that I 
cared nothing for the risk of her permanent 
misery. 

When I had a little money I squandered it — on 
her, of course, though that is no excuse. She is 
naturally almost as quick to forget anxiety as am I 
myself. We used to set off together, as soon as I 
had quieted her fears by some ingenious lie, to buy 
her some trinket, to have dinner at some decent 
restaurant, to go to some theatre, to spend a day or 
two on some little excursion. I was happy then — 
really happy : I had always that fatal facility for 
shutting my eyes on the future. We would make 
little excursions into the country or steamer trips 
along the coast — the sun knew how to shine in 
those days. I would lavish on one such pleasure- 
trip as much as would have kept us for a month, 
properly expended. I used to think the risk well 
taken when I saw the sunlight driving back the 
anxious shadows from her face and hear her laugh, 
as bright and merry as in the days before the wolf 
came to live on our doorstep. 

Things drove on in this way until all my small 


BASIL’S NARRATIVE 


243 


capital was gone. Poor Inez did what she could. 
She had been trained as a singer, though she had 
never worked at it professionally. She gave singing 
and French lessons. For a time she had a small 
post as companion to an old lady. She used to 
read to her, sermons — poor Inez ! by the hour 
together. She tried, so hard, after engagements on 
the concert platform. She even taught herself 
stenography and typewriting in the hope to make a 
little money — to keep her wretched husband. 

Climbing my pyramid of deceit, I was driven at 
last to invent a post for myself, with a firm of 
stockbrokers, in Maiden Lane. I did the thing 
thoroughly — as cunningly as would the madman that 
I was. I invented the whole machinery of an office, 
my employers, my colleagues, the work I had to 
do, the way my time was employed — everything. 
She believed it all, poor girl — and was happy. I 
should not be paid, I told her at the beginning, 
until the end of the month, so for thirty days I had 
a respite. I told her that my salary was- fifty dollars 
a week I might as well do the thing handsomely, 
I argued. We began at once to make plans for the 
little home we were to start, how economical we 
should be, how we should always save a little every 
week. We used to go — oh, my God ! — and look 
into the windows of the cheap furniture stores and 
choose the things we should buy when the money 
came, and we used to take little trips to the suburbs 
to choose our house, and we used to spend the 
evenings in that awful hall-room working out 
schemes of expenditure on paper. 

I had written to Ivo some time before, begging 
him to lend me fifty pounds, or if he could not lend 


244 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


it himself, to beg or borrow or steal it from some 
one else, because my need was very sore. But 
after the smash people had been very chary of 
financial dealings with us or any of us, and, although, 
I knew he did his best — he had never failed me 
before — he failed. He sent me five pounds, which 
was all he had — and I spent most of it on standing 
Inez dinner and a theatre, with some lie about 
having earned it as advance commission. 

After that I suppose I descended as low as ever 
man did before me. I wrote letters — actual begging 
letters — to everybody I could think of that I had 
ever known. I wrote to a woman that I had known 
before I met Inez, and had treated very badly — 
Inez knew of her, though not of that — and she sent 
me ten pounds. We are curious creatures. De- 
graded as I was, I could not spend that money on 
myself. I bought Inez a new dress with it, and 
smiled forgivingly when she rated me for my 
extravagance. 

Inez never knew that my wonderful post in 
Maiden Lane was an invention. The crash came 
before that. I have always been rather glad of it. 
I do not know why. 

The night before I was to draw my salary I sup- 
pose I must have drunk nearly a bottle of whisky, 
in the vain hope of shutting out the morrow, or 
perhaps of jogging my invention for some reason 
why I had not got my salary when the time came. 
When I woke at last Inez was already up, sitting 
by the window — it looked on to a horrible piece of 
waste land, I remember — sewing something. Her 
beautiful neck and arms were bare — I can see the 
light playing on them now — and her head was bent. 


BASIL’S NARRATIVE 


245 


When I spoke to her, and she looked round, I 
could see that she had been crying ; I was too 
cowardly to ask why. 

I dressed in a hurry, pretending to fear that I was 
late for my work. She was very quiet, scarcely 
spoke to me, only gave me my coffee from the little 
gas-stove that was all our kitchen. As I kissed her 
good-bye, I asked her jestingly what new injury I 
had done her. She answered something under her 
breath about not being sure yet. She agreed to 
meet me for lunch down-town, when I should have 
drawn my salary. 

I will say nothing of the new cause of complaint 
she believed herself to have against me, or how she 
came by that belief, for it involves a third party. 
She knows now — she must have known, after re- 
flection — that, with all my faults, I never faltered 
in my love for her. I do not say she was unreason- 
able, for when, on meeting, she charged me with it, 
I did not deny it, but left her to believe it if she 
would. I can scarcely explain it, even now. The 
sudden realisation of the wrong I had done her 
came over me — of how much happier she would be 
without me and the burden of my disgrace and 
failure. If I had never shown the depth of my love 
before, I could do it then, though she could never 
know it. 

She was not angry, outwardly. Her face was 
set, but it was more with grief than anger. She 
told me firstly, quite without expression, that she 
had that morning received the promise of some 
work for which she had been hoping — some small 
singing engagement which would take her out of 
New York. Before I could reply she set out her 


246 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


charge against me. Her face was averted and her 
voice full of pain, and when at last she finished and 
looked at me, I could have sworn — had I not known 
what cause she had to be tired of me— that she 
was appealing to me to deny what she had said. 
I did not. I met her eyes ; that and no more. It 
was better— I knew that it was better for her — 
even if it destroyed, once and for all, her belief in 
mankind. 

She turned away at last, with a weary shake of 
her head, poor girl ! I can see her now, so very 
well. She was wearing a big hat, one she had had 
for a long time and had retrimmed it herself. It was 
brownish green, and trimmed with intimation vine 
foliage. For her dress she had somehow adapted 
an old tea-gown — she was always clever with her 
hands — that she had bought three years before. 
You need no stronger testimony to the depth of 
poverty to which I had brought her. 

“ I never thought the day would come,” she said, 
“ that I should pray I might never see your face 
again.” 

She turned away and walked slowly up Sixth 
Avenue. 

I stood upon the corner looking after her until 
the glimmer of her dress was lost in the crowd. I 
did not attempt to follow her. I never loved her 
before with half the blind, passionate devotion I had 
for her then, but I made no motion to stop her. 
Perhaps that will be held as some little point in my 
favour when my time comes. 

It was by the merest luck, good or bad, that the 
policeman stopped me from walking under a street- 
car. I knew nothing of where I was or where I 


BASIL’S NARRATIVE 


247 


was going, only my eyes kept imprinting pictures, 
little round pictures, on my brain, like coloured 
photographs. They have remained with me ever 
since, and come back to me at night, when I am 
wakeful. 

When I came to myself J had walked a long way. 
I was almost at the end of Fifth Avenue, near 
Washington Square. My mind began to wander 
again after that, and in the end I found myself on 
Broadway, at City Hall Park. It was as though 
my mind had been frozen. I do not know how 
long 1 sat on one of the benches, without once 
moving away. I know a night had passed, because 
there was some civic celebration going on at the 
time — I do not know of what nature and they had — 
decorated the trees with coloured Japanese lanterns, 
and their brightness somehow soothed me. 

My first conscious act was to feel in my pockets, 
where I found three dollars and some cents. The 
first conscious effort of my mind was to remember 
that, a few days before, I had borrowed five dollars 
froni my darling, on the pretence that I would 
repay it out of my salary, though really counting 
upon a remittance from Ivo, from whom 1 had not 
then heard. I knew how little she had, and I felt 
that I must make restitution, as far as it was 
possible. 

I got an envelope at a little shop in Pearl Street, 
where I wandered without any reason that I know 
of. I wrote her name on it, put the three bills 
on it, and set out for Eighteenth Street. I had no 
second thought in this. I did not expect or even 
desire to see her, so absolute was my sense of 
finality. I only felt vaguely that she was already 


248 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


thinking as badly of me as she could bear to feel, 
and that I must not add to her burden the belief 
that I was mean enough to rob her of five 
dollars. 

She had left the house already. She had paid 
the bill ; she must have pawned the rest of her 
things to do it. Nothing of hers was left. My 
own things she had neatly packed, saying that I 
should be calling for them. One of the eye-pictures 
that always remains with me is of the deserted 
room, with my things neatly packed waiting for me 
on the floor. 

I suppose I said something to the woman of the 
house ; I don’t know what. I was certainly out of 
my senses for the time. 1 went into a cafe at the 
corner of the street and ordered a bottle of cham- 
pagne. It cost exactly the three dollars, and I 
remember very well its horrible sickly taste. I 
shared it with other two men who were in the bar. 
I asked them to drink a toast : ‘‘ Here’s to them 
that’s awa’. They probably saw that I was a lunatic, 
but they drank the toast and then hurried away, 
looking at me queerly. 

I do not know what happened to me during the 
next three days. When I try to remember them, 
it is like trying to look through a pall of black 
velvet. The fourth day must have been Sunday, 
because I happened to pass Trinity Church when a 
service was just beginning. I believe I had been 
sleeping on the Battery Park, watching the steam- 
boats starting for Glen Island in the daytime, 
because my dear girl and I had sometimes taken 
them from there. I am surprised they let me into 
the church at all — I was so dirty and unkempt and 


BASIL’S NARRATIVE 


249 


unshaven. I had eaten nothing since the moment 
I parted from her ; I did not even feel the need of 
food. The verger gave me a seat in a pew by 
myself, some distance from the rest of the con- 
gregation, which was only small. 

I think I had gone in first in the hope of com- 
panionship, for I was very lonely. Then, when the 
service started, I suddenly realised — it was the first 
time that I had attended a church in America — that 
the service was the same that I had heard so often as 
a little boy at home — and so seldom since. By the 
time the clergyman reached ‘‘ And hath given power 
and commandment unto His ministers,” 1 was 
sobbing like a frightened child, and nearly choking 
myself with the effort at self-control. I really was 
a frightened child at that moment — frightened out 
of my life by the thought that I was absolutely alone, 
that there was no one left who cared whether I was 
alive or damned. Even “ to absolve all them that 
truly repent and unfeignedly believe ” could not 
comfort me ; I knew that I did not believe, and I 
was not at all sure that 1 truly repented. 

Remembering it now, in the light of sanity, I 
cannot be sure of what I felt then. I only wish I 
could. I believe my greatest preoccupation was 
whether it would be better policy to try to make 
terms with Providence or to give in there and 
then. I do not know what I decided, but I do 
know that I suddenly began to pray, to the Divinity 
I did not believe in, as fervently as the sternest 
Inquisitor could have desired. Even as I prayed I 
thought what a cad I was, and wondered whether 
He would think so too, or whether He would 
understand. I knew that I was only appealing to 


250 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


Him as a sort of thirteenth chance, and that if I 
ever again resumed control over myself, I should 
slip back into my old carelessness — agnosticism I 
used to call it, for love of a long word. Yet all the 
time I found a certain comfort in the thought that 
if He was really God he must understand. 

My prayers were, of course, the absurdest mass 
of contradictions, that she might come back to me, 
and that I might have the strength not to go back 
to her ; that I might live to be a better man, and 
that I might die before I came to a worse end ; that 
He would accept my promise of a life-long re- 
pentance, and that He would understand that I 
should certainly backslide if He helped, and so on 
and so forth. I have backslidden of course ; I do 
not think I have ever entered a church-door since 
that day ; at least I shall never sneer at the Christian 
religion again. 

I cannot profess to explain the psychology of it, 
but I believe those prayers saved me from insanity. 
I was certainly on the verge of it before ; my brain 
worked quite normally afterwards. I even began 
consider how to avoid starvation, to which 1 had 
not until then given a thought. 

The next three days went pretty badly with me. 
I do not believe that ever a sickly lamb lost in a 
Highland snowstorm had less idea of caring for 
itself than I had. I was actually kept alive by a 
cup of coffee and a pretzel stood me by a street- 
walker as starving as myself on the Sunday night ; 
it never entered my head to refuse her, so low was 
I fallen. A little girl, crossing Union Square with 
her mother, ran back and gave me a dime the next 
afternoon ; I don’t know why, for I had not asked 


BASIL’S NARRATIVE 


251 


for it. I spent it on cigarettes ; I did not feel I 
could eat anything. 

I fully expected that the next day would see the 
end of me. I knew how the beggar and the starving 
loafer feel about things by that time. It struck me 
as curious that the respectable folk who pass you are 
always ashamed to look at you. They never do ; 
either they drop their eyes to the ground or they 
stare hard at something else. 1 am not sure that 
this loneliness, thi^ feeling that you are regarded as 
a leper, outside the pale of human sympathy, some- 
thing to be avoided, overlooked, is not the worst of 
all that a starving man has to bear. Now that things 
have gone better with me, I never pass a man in rags 
without looking at him, and, if the chance offers, 
speaking to him. I know what it means to 
him. 

By the Thursday, which broke grey and bleak 
over the housetops of Union Square, I was so far 
gone that I only felt a sort of gentle surprise that 
starvation was so painless a method of extinction. 
It began to rain about mid-day, and by the time it 
penetrated the leaves of the tree under which I was 
sitting I got up and shuffled away across the Square. 
I don’t know where I thought I was going — no- 
where in particular, I expect. Just as I reached the 
curb on the east side of the square, I saw a man 
leaning over the bonnet of a red automobile. I felt 
no shadow of interest or curiosity, but I stopped to 
watch him ; it meant some kind of bridge with life. 
He was cursing below his breath, and tapping 
vaguely with a spanner at things in general. Some- 
thing — probably my brain was kicking against the 
feeling of faintness — put it into my head to say, 


252 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


Can’t I hold your horse, sir ? ” I certainly did 
not say it with the idea of being funny, or with any 
idea at all that I know of. 

He was a big fellow, as big as myself, wearing a 
brown motor-coat. When he looked up, I saw that 
his hair was grizzled under his cap, and that he 
wore a grey imperial. He had kind eyes — I have 
never seen kinder. I remember wondering if he 
was a Frenchman. 

After a bit he gave up whatever he was trying to 
do, swore again, and stretched himself. 

“ No good,” he said to me. “ Nothing for it but 
to phone the garage.” 

It did me a surprising amount of good to be 
spoken to as if I was a human being. I found 
myself smiling. It came into my head to ask if I 
couldn’t do anything. I told him I knew something 
about motors. He raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t 
offer any objection. I seemed to put it right by 
instinct ; even before I knew what it was. 

He watched me in silence until I had finished, and 
I saw his hand go to his waistcoat pocket. I some- 
how felt I would rather die than accept his money, 
after he had spoken to me as an equal. I just 
turned and shuffled away. He was already getting 
into his seat, and had his hand on the starting-lever 
as I turned away ; but before I had gone five steps, I 
felt his hand on my shoulder. I tried to shake it off, 
so that he shouldn’t see my face, but he twisted me 
round as if I had been a baby. ‘‘ What’s the matter, 
son ? ” he asked me kindly. I mumbled something 
under my breath and tried to turn away again. I 
heard him ask me something — if I was up against it, 
I think it was — and then I suppose I fainted. 


BASIL’S NARRATIVE 


253 


When I came to myself, I was in a drug store, 
with something that smelt unpleasant being held to 
my nose. The big man was bending over me, and 
he seemed to be swearing. When I had come to 
myself and was getting ready to shuffle oif, he asked 
me to come and have lunch with him at the club. 
It was a good way of bringing me to myself. I 
motioned towards my clothes as a sufficient apology 
for refusing. He didn’t accept the apology ; just 
took possession of me as if I had been a baby. He 
steered me into the car, and drove straight away up 
Fourth Avenue at about a hundred miles an hour. 
He is one of the worst drivers in New York — though 
it annoys him to be told so — and we had two break- 
downs on the way ; but in the end, by a series of 
miracles, we reached Butcher’s Baths, on Sixth 
Avenue, and I had a bath and a shave and a clean 
shirt and collar. After that he brought me here — 
to the very place where I am writing this as pro- 
prietor — though it wasn’t called Bull’s in those 
days. 

He knew all about me before we had finished that 
lunch ; it just spouted out of me at the first word 
of sympathy. I didn’t conceal anything from him 
either — about what a shirker and a slacker I had 
been. I even told him my name — without touching 
on my domestic affairs. 

The end of it all was that I am here. His name 
was Ticehurst, and he first made me understand 
what the Americans mean when they talk about a 
white man. I am not by any means the first person 
he has helped in the same way, though he told me 
it was because I was English. He said he was a 
near-Englishman himself, that his grandfather came 


254 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


from Ledbury, in Herefordshire, and that his family 
had farmed the same land there for eight centuries. 
But the fact that he gave me a first leg-up was the 
least of it ; anybody can do that. He understood. 
1 distinguished myself a week afterwards by getting 
blind drunk in his apartment on 79 th Street. He 
didn’t fire me, as I should certainly have done under 
similar circumstances. His method was to ignore 
the whole thing and never mention it to me after- 
wards — and I have never touched drink, or wanted 
to, since that day. The very first dollar I had, 
I spent — I was quite mad at the time — in going 
off to Port Theodore, in Long Island, where my 
darling and I had been the preceding summer, 
and mooning about the places we had been to 
together. I suppose he had put one of his clerks on 
to follow me ; I only know that he turned up there 
the next day, motor-car and all, and came to me 
where I was lying on a big rock on the beach, at a 
place called Rattan Shores, about a mile from the 
village. We had bathed there together, she and 1 
in spite of the huge notices of “ Beware of the Dog,” 
and “ Trespassers will be Hanged, Drawn, and 
Quartered,” which is the pleasant little custom, of 
the Long Island landholders to put up to scare 
would-be bathers. I think my idea was that when 
the tide rose, it would cover the top of the rock and 
sweep me away into the Never-Never country. 
However it was, Ticehurst got there first and 
carried me back to New York in the auto willy- 
nilly, and never referred to the subject again. If 
any insular ass of the kind I used to be ever sneers 
at the Americans, since then I always contradict 
him gently to start with, and, if that isn’t enough, I 


BASIL’S NARRATIVE 


255 


kick him. There are lots of people, at home and 
abroad, ready to help a lame dog over a stile — if he 
is a nice dog, and a clean dog, and a grateful dog, 
that does you credit ; but if he is none of those 
things, and snarls at you — it takes a Ticehurst to go 
on helping him then, and to behave as if it was an 
honour and a pleasure to do it. And Ticehurst is 
what I used to call a Yankee. He is from the 
Middle West too, where “ you have to tell them.” 
When I die, I am going to leave money for a statue 
to be put up in Saint Louis — of a lame dog being 
helped over a stile. 

We talked over what I was fit for, more than 
once — and it did not seem as if there was anything. 
Ticehurst always wanted to know if there was 
nothing I had ever felt specially interested in, and I 
had to admit that the only thing I had ever shown 
any talent for was cooking, and that only when I 
was a boy at school, and invented a new way of 
toasting sardines over the gas. I said it jestingly, 
but he took it quite seriously, and the next thing 
that happened was that he found me a place with 
old Leroux, who used to run this place at the 
time. 

It was an inspiration, as it turned out. I believe 
there is nothing else in the world I should have 
been any good at, but I was a good waiter. Even old 
Leroux, who used to be at the Armenonville in the 
Bois before he came over here, admitted that. He 
died six months later, and I saw possibilities in the 
place, and drew out a scheme for running it and 
put it before Ticehurst. He is a typical American 
in that way— ready to risk money on anything. He 
has been a millionaire twice and a pauper once since 


256 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


I have known him. He advanced me the necessary 
money to rearrange the place according to my own 
ideas. I was able to clear it off under the year, 
and since then I have had nothing but good 
fortune. 

I have recalled all these very painful memories, 
because I wish Ivo to know how things have been 
with me, and I do not care to talk about it even to 
him. I see much in him that reminds me of myself. 
I wish above all things to prevent his plunging into 
marriage until he can be sure of being able to 
support his wife and not run the risk of being 
supported by her. 1 do not know how far things 
have gone between him and Miss Hertzenstein — 
it is, of course, impossible to put any credit in the 
press statements of the affair. I shall certainly 
do everything in my power to prevent any such 
a match ; he had far better endure any unhappiness 
than that. To depend upon his wife for his liveli- 
hood brings a man down lower than the beasts. 1 
know, for I may hope that I have won back the right 
to my self-respect again, I have always the memory 
of that hideous year. I shall always have it. I have 
never seen her again ; knowing that she is well 
and prosperous, I have no right. Once or twice 
recently I have been sorely tempted to meet her, 
professedly by accident, but I have found strength 
to avoid it. She could never understand ; even if 
she realised the change in me, the memory of what 
I was would always rise up between us and part us. 
I gather from Ivo that she half-believes me dead ; 
I shall do all that is in my power to convince 
her, through him, that it is so. If I never 
worry her again in this world, perhaps she will 


BASIL’S NARRATIVE 


257 


understand in the next. But oh, my dear, my 
dear, if only it were possible to blot out the 
past ! 


17 


PART VII 


IVO’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 

CHAPTER XXIII 

Basil finds peace, perfect peace, in getting up about 
three in the morning. I don’t. He came round and 
woke me about a week before I had got to sleep 
to tell me that he had decided to overlook my 
impertince — or some rot of that kind. I told him 
to go to Dublin and inquire about the Crown Jewels ; 
but he insisted that I was to get up, pack my traps, 
pay my bill, and come off with him at once to Bull’s 
— and as there seemed no other way of getting 
rid of him, I did. We got there before eight — if you 
can imagine anything so unchristian. 

There was a Curious sort of cermony to go 
through when we got there, which made me more 
certain than before that Basil was somebody I had 
never been introduced to. Bull’s was originally an 
ordinary dwelling-house, with a backyard to it. In 
rebuilding it he had thrown out a big dining-room 
over what used to be the yard. That, of course, 
was got up in the most expensive kind of Old 
English simplicity. The space underneath it was 
also a dining-room, but arranged more after the 
fashion of the refectory at Harrowby, as cheap and 


IVO’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 259 


simple as no matter. When we entered, it was 
crowded with about the smelliest crowd I ever 
remember to have passed within ten miles of. 
There must have been a hundred of them, all sitting 
along wooden tables, pegging away at their food — 
and jolly good it looked — like three o’clock in the 
morning. I remembered then — I hadn’t taken much 
notice of it at the time — that as we walked to the 
Waldorf overnight, Basil had kept on turning off 
to speak to all the down-and-outers we passed on 
the way. I began to wonder if he wasn’t one of 
the dear old Cloud’s pals — president of the Pink- 
and-White Hand Murderer’s Association or some- 
thing. 

Basil ^took a seat by the door, and as each 
unwashed finished his troughful and started to leave, 
he got up and spoke to him, and with most of them 
I saw that he took down something in a notebook, 
and handed the man a dollar bill. 

He was not half through with them, when one 
of the waiters, looking incredibly dissipated, for 
he had not shaved or washed his face although he 
was wearing a dress shirt and green braize apron, 
came in with a tadpoly-looking young man behind 
him about four foot high, with a little round pork- 
pie hatj^and^gold spectacles. 1 was standing some 
little way from Basil at the moment, and I couldn’t 
hear their first few words. After a bit he turned 
round towads me, and raised his finger, “ Oh, 
Tupper ! ” he called out. 

It gave me confidence to know who 1 was, so I 
went up smiling. 

“ This is my old friend, Mr. Einstamm, of the 
Patriot^' said Basil. 


260 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


‘‘ Glad to know you, sir,” said Mr. Einstamm, so 
I said, “ Glad to know you, sir,” too, and we shook 
hands warmly, and asked each other to look in 
whenever we were passing. 

“ Say, Tupper,” went on Basil, when we had 
finished, “ Mr. Einstamm wants to know if we have 
any British aristocrats among our staff.” 

I pointed to the little waiter in the green baize 
apron, who was yawning like the Red Sea at the 
time. “ He is the only one left,” I said, “ since the 
earl became a vegetarian and the Marquis shot him- 
self through not getting his fair share of tips. He 
is only a Nova Scotian baronet at that.” 

Mr. Einstamm began writing busily in his note- 
book, and Basil frowned at me. 

“ A man called Talbot he is after,” he explained. 
“ Come over recently from London. Wants to 
marry Hertzenstein’s daughter, the copper king ” 

‘‘ O-h-h,” I said, having got my cue, “ he must 
mean the red-haired blighter with the single eye- 
glass. Turned up yesterday while you were out.” 

I saw Mr. Einstamm's ears prick up, and he 
stuck his pencil behind one of them and pulled out 
another. 

“ Offered to come in as manager,” I went on. 
“ Said, ‘ Ah — don’t you know — ah — give the place 
some tone — ah — don’t you know.’ He had left all 
his aitches behind him in London.” 

“ Sounds as if it might be him,” said Basil judici- 
ally. Mr. Einstamm only nodded, and took out a 
third pencil. I began to understand why his ears 
were so big. 

“ I turned him down,” I said. “ Told him to try 
— but perhaps I had better not say where. Told 


IVO’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 261 


him that if we engaged him, his job would be to 
clear away the slopes, and he fainted twice.” 

1 was kept busy the rest of the morning telling 
other reporters all about it. Very good fellows 
they were too, and made quite a pretty romance out 
of it. One of them even succeeded in running the 
mysterious aristocrat down at one of the big hotels 
up Central Park way. Had a column interview 
with him that same afternoon, with exact descrip- 
tions of his red hair and his monocle and his aitches 
all complete. 

So we were rid of him. It didn’t do the business 
any harm either ; we had quite a rush of customers 
for the next day or two wanting to be waited on by 
the Nova Scotia baronet and for Mr. Tupper to tell 
them about the earl and the marquis. 

Meanwhile I found out that Basil’s free breakfast 
parties were daily institutions. Whenever he passed 
a poor devil who looked down on his luck — and the 
dirtier the better — he used to give him a regular 
invitation card, begging the honour of his company 
and all the rest of it. When they had fed, he used 
to have a chat with each of them, find out what was 
wrong, and afterwards try to put them in the way 
of getting a job again. He didn’t seem to care much 
for the honest poor ; they could always find some 
one to help them, according to him. It was the 
poor devil with as little character as cash that he 
really sympathised with. I suppose we must have 
had more black-hearted villainy, male and female, 
under our roof in the course of a week than the 
Tombs has in a year, only ours was the kind that 
didn’t specialise. 

The truth was that dear old Basil had turned into 


262 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


something perilously like a crank. He was especi- 
ally strong on self-respect ; if his proteges could 
only get that back, he made out, the state of their 
stomach or their morals didn’t matter. His cranki- 
ness showed itself in a dozen ways. He used to be 
one of the most original and flowery liars in the 
Home countries, with a command of detail that 
would have turned a politician green with envy. 
Now that he had become Mr. Bull, even a white 
lie looked blood-red to him. My pleasant little 
accounts of our aristocrats really upset him as 
though he had been an old lady teaching a Sunday- 
school class. I noticed that he didn’t object to the 
extra custom they brought along though. I found 
myself a bit worried about what Inez would think 
of him when I had brought them together again 
— whether, I mean, she wouldn’t find the Sunday- 
school superintendent almost as wearing as she used 
to find the pub-crawler. 

I believe Ticehurst was really at the bottom of it 
all, though there was nothing of the crank about 
him. I don’t yet know exactly how he makes his 
living, except that he seems to have a genius for 
inventing things that no one could possibly want, 
such as skirt-suspenders for the use of principal 
boys in pantomime, or machines for embroidering 
pink roses on men’s silk hats, and then selling them 
for huge sums and immediately losing it all in 
starting newspapers or coal mines or flour mills. 
He was a jolly good sort, and 1 got on with him 
no end well, although I was a bit jealous of his 
influence over Basil. The only fault I had to find 
in him was that he thought himself a humorist, 
and was always telling stories that he must have 


IVO’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 263 


found in the “ Anglo-Saxon Chronicle ** or Piers 
Plowman,” and looking sad and depressed if you 
didn’t laugh for more than five minutes on end. 
He used to say that the English have no sense of 
humour. 

I hadn’t been at Bull’s forty-eight hours when 
things began to happen. The very first day Basil 
gave me no end of a long screed that he had written 
about his past adventures — for my guidance, he ex- 
plained, which struck me as rather gratutious. He 
made me promise that no one but myself should 
ever see it, so as soon as 1 had read it I posted it 
off at once to Inez, with a letter of my own explain- 
ing things a bit — and then sat down to await events. 

The second day we were lunching with Ticehurst, 
in the little private room upstairs We always 
lunched there. Ticehurst, who nearly always came 
in, refused to feed in the public part of the place, 
because he said that the unmanly, un-American 
subservience that Basil always insisted on from the 
waiters took away his appetite. So we fed upstairs 
and helped ourselves. 

I was half-worried out of my life by that time 
wondering what would be the best thing to do 
about Estelle. I hadn’t heard a word from her — 
though I had vaguely hoped she might write ; I 
couldn’t even feel exactly sure where she was. I 
kept on making up my mind to tell Basil all about 
it, and then unmaking it again, lest he should treat 
it as being ridiculous. With all that on my mind, 
and Ticehurst making jokes that would have been 
too mouldy even to feed to the animals in the Ark, 
I was a pretty gloomy fraction of that lunch 
party. 


264 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


We were just about finished when one of the 
waiters came up in a pretty obvious fluster and 
began whispering in Basil’s ear. He looked a bit 
surprised, and then he turned round to me, and said, 
“ There is an old gentleman downstairs who says he 
is looking for a man named Talboys.” He turned 
round to the waiter again. ‘‘ You told him you 
did not know the name.^ ” 

“ The gentleman says he will wait there till he 
sees him, because he knows he is somewhere in 
hiding, sir. We have all done our best to reason 
with him, but he is a very fierce old gentleman, with 
a large stick, and Mr. Belcher thought that perhaps 
you wouldn’t mind speaking to him.” 

Basil looked a question to me, and when I didn’t 
say anything, he just shrugged his shoulders and 
told the man that he would come down. 

“ I shouldn’t wonder if it was old Moresby,” I 
said. “ On the boat, you know. I told you about 
him.” 

Doesn’t sound as if he was over and above 
pleased with you,” said Basil. “ You didn’t happen 
to pick his pocket, or anything ? ” 

That pulled me up all standing. It hadn’t 
occurred to me that he might think — not knowing 
the real facts — that I had treated Estelle badly. I 
began to wish I had taken Basil into my confidence. 

“ Not that I can remember,” I said. “ But 
perhaps it might be better if you were to see him 
first and find out what he wants.” 

I went after him myself as far as the next landing, 
and bent over it, listening. It was old Moresby all 
right. I knew his voice at once. I heard it coming 
out into the lobby after Basil. He was saying 


IVO’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 265 


something about wanting to chastise a paltry 
scoundrel and not going away until he had. 

There is nothing I dislike so much as quarrelling 
with old gentlemen. I retreated up the stairs as I 
heard the voice coming nearer, until I was driven 
back into the room where Ticehurst was still sitting. 

“ What’s the matter ? ” he said, as soon as he saw 
my face. 

“ Death and desolation is the matter,” I told him. 
“ Flames and fury are the matter. For the Lord’s 
sake show me somewhere where I can hide ” 

He goggled at me for a moment, and then showed 
me a door, leading into another room. Just as I 
fled through it, 1 heard Basil come in, followed by 
the angry voice. 

“ He is not in at present,” Basil was saying 
soothingly. ‘‘ I don’t know exactly where he is at 
this moment. But if you will leave a message, I 
will see that it reaches him.” 

“ I believe you are hiding him,” shouted the old 
gentleman, and however it was with his heart, I 
would take my oath his lungs were as sound as a 
bell. “ I refuse to be played with in this way.” 

Basil said something in a low voice that I could 
not catch, and just at that moment I heard the voice 
of another waiter saying that a gentleman downstairs 
wished particularly to see Mr. Talboys. 

I began to wonder whether I was quite right in 
my head, and I gathered from Basil’s voice that he 
was feeling rather the same way himself. “ Oh, 
ask him up,” he said— “ Ask them all up. This is 
Liberty Hall.” 

There was a moment’s silence — I expect Mr. 
Moresby was getting his breath back. I took the 


266 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


opportunity to look round the room I was in. It 
was a dusty sort of place, a sort of lumber-room, 
and I was delighted to find that it had another door 
all to itself. I prospected cautiously, and found that 
it opened on to the same landing, a bit farther along. 
I felt better when I saw that my retreat wasn’t 
altogether cut off. 

When I got back to my post by the inner door, a 
new voice had butted in. It was American, and 
I couldn’t place it at first, but, by peeping through 
the crack of the door, I could see that it was Hap- 
good, the man who had lent me the horse. What 
he wanted was more than I could imagine. He was 
just as insistent as the old gentleman, only less 
truculent. 

A bright idea struck me. I tore a scrap of paper 
off a pile of bill-heads that was lying around pro- 
miscuously, and scribbled on it with a pencil I had 
in my pocket. I was rather too excited to worry 
about the exact sense of it. “ A” I wrote, “ is the 
grandfather of A, one of the girls I think I am en- 
gaged to. B is engaged to Miss Hertzenstein, or I 
think he is, and she thinks I am engaged to her. 
I want to marry A, not B, on any account. For 
God’s sake arrange it for me without bloodshed ! 
Remember, A, not B.” 

When I had done it, I half opened my door and 
angled out of it until a chambermaid sort of person 
came along. I seized hold of her as if she was a 
Yukon gold-mine. “ If you value your own reputa- 
tion,” I told her earnestly, “ and the lives of all your 
aunts, take this note into Bas — I mean Mr. Bull. 
He is in the next room — that way, idiot. And 
don’t on any account say how you came by it. Just 


IVO’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 267 


give it him without saying anything — and then come 
away.” 

She trembled a good deal, but she took the 
paper — to get rid of me I expect. What is more, 
she did what I wanted, as I heard by the time I got 
back to my crack. They were all too busy already 
to worry much about her. The old gentleman was 
protesting that he would not be put off with waiters 
and underlings. He was in a fine old paddy, and 
after a bit he began to comment on the whole of 
the Talboys family, and how they appeared in the 
eyes of ordinary human beings. I was glad when 
he came to that, because I could hear Basil stiffen — 
hear his shirt-front, perhaps I ought to say. Then 
he came out with quite a new sort of voice. “ Per- 
haps 1 had better say that I am the head of the 
family that has annoyed you.” 

I could hear the General’s eyeballs crackle as they 
flamed round Basil’s whiskers. 

‘‘ You — Lord Talboys ! ” I heard him gasp, and 
Basil reply in his best Byzantine manner, “ I have 
that honour.” 

Hapgood chimed in just as the General got started 
again. His trouble was that I had trifled with Miss 
Hertzenstein’s affections, and he wanted to know 
what I was going to do about it. The General’s 
was that I had trifled with his granddaughter’s 
affections, and he jolly well knew what he was going 
to do about it. They both talked at once, but as 
they were saying very much the same things, it 
didn’t confuse the issues much. 

I somehow felt that Basil must be beginning to 
get steam up. ‘‘ Do I not understand, Mr. Hap- 
good,” he began, in his best voice, “ that you are 


268 HUNT THE SLIPPER 

yourself a candidate for Miss Hertzenstein’s 
hand ? ” 

“ That is not in question,” countered the lawyer. 
“I am not going to stand by and see her made 
unhappy.” 

“ B. Yes, of course, you must be B,” I heard 
Basil mutter quite distinctly. It looked as if he 
was getting muddled. ‘‘ Even if — how shall I put 
it — that implies the — er — extinction of your hopes.” 

“ If she wants the fellow, have him she shall, if I 
have to drag him to the altar by the skin of his eye- 
balls. I want to know how he stands.” 

I already thought Hapgood rather a descent chap, 
and I went on thinking so, though I did wish he 
wasn’t so deucedly altruistic. I mentally made over 
to him all my share in Miss Elvira’s affections, and 
was only sorry it would have looked intrusive for 
me to put my head in and tell him so. 

He had scarcely finished speaking, when the floor- 
ing creaked loudly and a voice like the by-product 
of a vulcano boomed out. “ I have a sort of im- 
pression that I can look after my daughter’s interests 
without your help,” it said. 

It was Hertzenstein of course, and it gave me the 
comfortable feeling that the party was complete at 
last, especially as he was about nine foot high and 
the room very small. 

“ I should like a few words with the Honourable 
Ivo Talboys,” I heard him boom on. “ They told 
me I should find him here.” 

I got the impression that Basil was losing grip 
with the situation. “ Would you mind telling me 
— ” he began. “ I am not quite clear whether you 
represent A or B. Are you this gentleman’s son — 


IVO’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 269 


or son-in-law — or that gentleman’s father or father- 
in-law ? Or perhaps both ? ” 

They all began to explain things at once. I didn’t 
listen to them, because I was getting to feel happier 
again. Hertzenstein and Hapgood more or less 
neutralised each other so far as Miss Hertzenstein 
was concerned, and if the General insisted on marry- 
ing me by force, I should just have to put up with 
it. It struck me suddenly that I was occupying 
rather an undignified position, having my affairs 
talked over in that way, especially if one of them 
should open the door. I have always liked taking 
a stroll after lunch, and the weather was wonderfully 
warm for the time of year. 

I got down the stairs all right. To get at the 
waiters’ dressing room I had to go through the 
restaurant — and I didn’t care for the idea of 
strolling out in evening dress, I walked through to 
change. I picked up a pile of dirty plates on the 
way, and carried them along as a sort of disguise, in 
case any more stern parents should be waiting to 
interview me. When ! got level with the last table 
in the room I dropped them. Estelle and Miss 
Hertzenstein were lunching their together, and they 
had both seen me. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


I MIGHT easily have hurt myself, tumbling over a lot 
of broken crockery, but it seemed to amuse them 
both no end. They both sat there and laughed like 
two of the Graces who had just seen the third one 
drop a lock of false hair. I stood and looked at 
them with all the pathetic dignity I could rally 
round me, which wasn’t much. 

“ We thought we might see you,” said Miss 
Elvira, when they had recovered. “ We came here 
on purpose.” 

“They won’t be long now,” I assured them. 
“They must just about have killed my brother by 
now.” 

“ They ^ Who do you mean ? ” They seemed 
surprised about something. 

“ The Desentente Cordiale,” I told them. I was 
proud of it ; I wasn’t quite sure what the words 
meant — I had picked them up out of a newspaper, 
but they expressed an idea all right. “ The General 
had him by the throat when I left ; Mr. Hertzen- 
stein had just put his scalp away in his pocket-book 
Tor reference, and Mr. Hapgood was gnawing his 
ankle. I am just off to fetch the undertaker.” 

“ Do you mean they are here already What 
fools men are,” said Miss Hertzenstein amiably. 
Estelle said something about having been afraid of 


IVO’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 271 


it, and then they both said it was an impossible 
situation. 

I told them I quite agreed with them, and if they 
would excuse me, I would run downstairs and change 
into a suit of mourning. 

Miss Hertzenstein suddenly turned her nose up ; 
one of the neatest things I ever saw. “ If you 
represent the British standard of the ardent lover,” 
she said, “ give me Amurrica every time.” 

I explained to her that in England we never make 
love in public restaurants, except tete-h-t^te. 

She is uncommonly pretty, but I don’t know that 
I altogether envy Hapgood. I believe she would 
have kept me stewing there for a week, just for the 
pleasure of tormenting me. Estelle isn’t like that. 
She suddenly leant out towards me, “ It was all a 
mistake,” she said ; “ I want to ask you to forgive 
me.” 

I was going pink all over with happiness, like a 
beetroot that had got into too hot a bath by mistake, 
when Miss Elvira chimed in. She just flew at 
Estelle, told her she was a weak fool, and not 
worthy of her feminine sex or her American train- 
ing, and that I had domineering man written all 
over me plainly enough without her pandering to it. 
They had quite a cheerful little scrap about it, while 
I stood by wondering what to do with my hands 
now I had no plates to toy with. Then they made 
me sit down at the table with them, to the scandal 
of the other waiters. I believe Basil would have 
had a fit if he had seen me, but Miss Hertzenstein 
said if I didn’t it would show I was not worthy of 
being engaged to two of the prettiest women in 
America, so there was no way out of it. 


272 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


There had been all sorts of alarums and excur- 
sions going on. Before Estelle got halfway home, 
Hapgood came spurring after her, chestnut mare 
and all, like a demon horseman, as she put it. He 
was as muddled about things as she was herself, 
because only that morning Miss Hertzenstein had 
accepted him, and later in the day she had a regular 
pitched battle with her father, in his presence, 
because he objected to her being engaged to me. 
When Hapgood groused about it, which wasn’t 
very surprising, she told him it was her inalienable 
right to be engaged to as many people as she liked, 
so long as she only married one of them, and if he 
didn’t like it he could lump it, or words to that 
effect. I believe he had been letting off his feelings 
before then, by calling up the newspaper offices on 
the long-distance ’phone and explaining that Miss 
Hertzenstein had refused me. If he hadn’t, I don’t 
know who had, because neither the father nor the 
daughter knew anything about it — hadn’t been inter- 
viewed or anything. 

Hapgood and Estelle had a regular pow-wow 
about things after she had put the old gentleman to 
bed that evening. When he had gone, as she was 
feeling a bit shaken up over my perfidy, she hap- 
pened to turn over the wallet I had left with her, 
and when she came upon the sealed envelope from 
Inez, she opened it to see if it threw any light upon 
things. It wasn’t exactly what I should have cared 
to do myself — though I took jolly good care not to 
say so ; but it turned out all right, because what 
she read there explained things to her satisfaction. 
It didn’t to the General’s though. He preferred to 
go on regarding me as an irreclaimable blackguard. 


IVO’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 273 


That morning, just when she was about starting 
for New York to look for me, Miss Hertzenstein 
turned up in her auto to ask if she had heard any- 
thing of Hapgood, because he had gone off vowing 
to shoot me and blow his own brains out. She was 
pleasantly excited over the prospect. She had an 
idea her father meant to horsewhip me whenever 
he could find time, and that struck her as amusing. 
Estelle hasn’t got so keen a sense of humour, and 
there must have been another exciting ten minutes 
before they decided to kiss and make friends. By 
that time they found the General had sneaked off 
by himself, leaving a note to say that if Estelle 
lacked spirit to avenge the insult offered to her, he 
didn’t, and that he was off to New York to chastise 
an impertinent scoundrel. So, all things considered, 
they thought they had better come along at once so 
as not to miss any fun that happened to be going. 
As everything seemed quiet, and they couldn’t hear 
of any murders having taken place, they thought 
they might as well lunch — rather cold-blooded, it 
struck me — while they were waiting for something 
to turn up. 

Although Miss Hertzenstein maintained that she 
had been perfectly right to punish me for the way I 
had treated her, Estelle thought I had behaved like a 
hero of romance, which struck me as a much more 
sensible view to take. Anyway, it had turned out 
all right, and 1 wouldn’t have called the President 
my cousin, even if he had happened to be. 

I was quite happy and ready to stay there as long 
as either of them liked, though I did have some 
faint hopes that Miss Hertzenstein might remember 
she had another engagement somewhere. But after 

i8 


274 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


about three seconds they both got up, and said that, 
as I was more or less engaged to both of them, I 
should have the privilege of paying both their bills 
for them, and that then we should all go upstairs 
and join the family circle. 

I explained that Basil never allowed any one to 
enter his private room who wasn’t specially invited, 
and that we might intrude upon private business 
discussions, or even something that wasn’t fit for 
ladies’ ears ; but that only seemed to make them 
more eager, and, as soon as we were outside the 
restaurant, they came one on each side of me and 
took my arms and ran me up the stairs and burst 
open the door of the private room without so much 
as knocking. 

Things had settled down quite a lot since I left. 
They had a magnum of champagne on the table, and 
they were all smoking big cigars, so that you could 
scarcely see them. Mr. Hertzenstein had his feet 
on the table, and Mr. Hapgood had his coat off and 
his feet on the mantelpiece, and Ticehurst was tell- 
ing them one of the stories that delayed the Angels 
from getting to the Garden in time to warn Eve 
against the Serpent. 

They all got up when 1 came in, as if I had been 
royalty. The General reached for his walking- 
stick, and Hapgood began to roll up his shirt- 
sleeves as if he wanted to show his muscle, and 
Mr. Hertzenstein opened his mouth to be in readi- 
ness to let out a few remarks by the time they had 
climbed up to it from his lungs. None of them did 
or said anything, though, because Miss Hertzenstein 
spoke first. “ You are a lot of very foolish people,” 
she said, “ and if a single one of you isn’t real sweet 


IVO’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 275 


to him, I will never speak another word to Earl 
Hapgood.” 

Earl Hapgood — it wasn’t a title, I found out 
later, but a given-name, as they call it here — hurried 
towards me and wrung my hand and patted me on 
the shoulder. I believe he would have hugged me 
if he hadn’t been afraid Estelle might be jealous. 
That gave us the majority, so there was no more 
question of hostilities. 

“ Estelle here is going to marry Ivo Talboys and 
I am going to marry Earl Hapgood,” she went on. 
If any one had any objections to make, they were 
now to declare them, because they didn’t make the 
least difference, and it would be just as well to get 
them out of the way at once. 

Nobody seemed to object much, except the 
General. 1 have an impression that Mr. Hertzen- 
stein felt a bit out of it, but, being American, he 
was too well trained to say anything. As to the 
General, Miss Hertzenstein bottled him up very 
neatly by kissing him on the tip of his nose — she 
went for his lips, I think, but steered badly — and 
after that he was too busy curling the ends of his 
moustache and shooting his cuffs to think of any- 
thing else. 

We had quite a pleasant chatty afternoon after 
that, ending up with a tour of inspection over the 
premises and a battle-royal between Miss Hertzen- 
stein and the head cook over the best way to make 
Yorkshire pudding. The cook, who was really a 
Frenchman, only was called Smith so as not to 
interfere with the local atmosphere, had learnt in 
Marseilles, and Miss Hertzenstein had been taught 
by an old nigger woman in Florida, and I expect 


276 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


honours were even. I don’t really know, because I 
was taking Estelle on a personally conducted tour 
through the furnace-room — which was rather lonely 
— and by the time we got back they were reconciled 
and telling the General the secrets of military cook- 
ing in the field. 

They were all keen on seeing a little more of me 
as a waiter, but they hadn’t any chance that day, 
and, after a bit, the girls carried me off with them 
in the Hertzenstein auto to call on the Cloud and 
make the Williamson girl’s acquaintance. 

I didn’t gather there was anything particular on, 
except a sort of afternoon call, so I confined myself 
to doing the honours and introducing the Cloud, 
who was wearing the Garden of Eden hat — I don’t 
believe she had ever taken it off since she got it — 
and chasing away the crowd of rubberers that had 
assembled to see an auto as broad as the Hudson 
trying to turn round in a street as narrow as the 
inside of a medium-sized eel. 

They were all blooming, especially the baby, who 
had taken naturally to the role of a coal miner, and 
when we arrived was sitting in a sort of bower it 
had burrowed out of a heap of charcoal, sucking 
away at its thumbs so as to be sure of not wasting 
even a crumb of dirt and blowing it out again in 
tar-bubbles. 

Those sort of ceremonies are always a little 
wearing, although I did my best to make conversa- 
tion and let the baby cover me all over with dirt 
as a hint to Estelle how thoroughly domesticated I 
was. The General was more of a success than I 
was, because he had once really dined with Garibaldi, 
and the whole assembly got really intimate in trying 


IVO’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 277 


to drive it into Nonno’s head. Even so, I was just 
going to suggest that we should be late for an 
important engagement at the White House if we 
didn’t go at once, when I saw the Williamson girl 
suddenly go red and sit down heavily on the nearest 
chair. I happened to have my back to the door, 
which she was looking towards, and when I nipped 
round, there was Hapgood standing in the doorway, 
and just behind him our friend Peyton Dayrell the 
burglar. 

He was so well dressed and so sprucely groomed, 
and so condescendingly aristocratic, and so sub- 
limely unconscious of anything unusual in the 
circumstances, that I felt quite shabby beside him. 
I think we all did except the old General, who 
positively beamed at him, and the two of them 
discussed the events of the voyage and the state 
of the crops and the meteorological prospects in a 
way that was quite a lesson in deportment under 
difficulties. 

They were so absorbed in each other that we left 
the old gentleman there, Dayrell promising to see 
him save home. Miss Hertzenstein and Hapgood 
went off in the auto, but Estelle and I walked, 
because we were not going the same way and we 
wanted to admire the scenery. She was a little 
worried at leaving her grandfather surrounded by 
murderers, but I pointed out to her that, after all, 
he had spent the greater part of his life in the same 
way, which comforted her a bit, and we enjoyed our 
walk quite a lot. Most of the things she told me 
I told her beforehand, but one or two were original. 
One was that Dayrell’s release was due to Mr. 
Hertzenstein, though his daughter had kept him up 


278 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


to it. He and Hapgood had decided between them 
that it would be better not to go into the question 
whether he was guilty or innocent, because, if he 
was innocent, he would probably get rather a 
heavier sentence than if he wasn’t. So they had 
merely inquired what were the prevalent rates for 
aquitals, with or without a stain on your character ; 
they were rather high because of the police scandal 
and the coming Presidental Election. Mr. Hirtzen- 
stein drew a cheque, and Hapgood conveyed it to 
the proper quarter, and Dayrell was released with- 
out a stain on his character, as that only cost a few 
hundreds more and was more satisfactory in other 
ways ; and State-Senator West was wailing and 
gnashing of teeth, and declaring that the country 
was going to the dogs, and that he would turn Pro- 
gressive if things didn’t improve ; and everbody 
else was as merry as so many sandboys. I can’t 
guarantee the details, because Estelle wasn’t very 
clear about them herself, and they don’t matter 
much either, as they were strictly according to 
precedent, but there wasn’t any doubt about the 
main facts. 

Dayrell gave a good deal of trouble though before 
they were finished with him. He was so pleased at 
the attention his case was receiving, and at the 
number of reporters who visited him, and the 
number of offers of marriage that kept pouring in 
by every post, most of them calling him “ my lord,” 
and saying that it had long been the darling wish of 
the writer’s heart to make a British aristocrat truly 
happy by means of her devoted affection and 
excellent cooking, that he quite grudged leaving the 
Tombs or wherever it was. The only way they 


IVO’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 279 


managed him at last was by threatening, in a 
personal interview, that if he didn’t do what he was 
told at once, they would put up a lawyer to plead 
for him, and point out that he wasn’t really a 
Dayrell, but only a valet named Hobbes and not an 
aristocrat at all. It was Estelle’s idea, and she felt 
herself it was a little brutal, especially as she only 
knew of it from the account he had written of 
himself in a moment of weakness ; but it worked 
like a charm. A wonderful woman Estelle is. She 
had another idea, quite as practical : to leave the 
Williamson girl’s story lying about his cell by 
accident, where he couldn’t help seeing it, and 
finding out how she felt about him. It was taking 
rather a big risk, as I told her, for it might easily 
have fallen into the hands of one of the reporters 
who always slept in the cell with him ; but it turned 
out all right, and the first thing he asked, after 
matters were fixed up and the prison officials came 
to bid him good-bye and ask him to drop in when- 
ever he was passing, was, if Hapgood knew where 
the Williamson girl was to be found. 

Estelle was so keen on getting everything nicely 
rounded off, that she wanted to start off there and 
then for Chicago to collect Inez and reconcile her 
and Basil, whether they liked it or not. I suggested 
it might be rather a good idea to wait a day or two 
in order to see if anything turned up ; and it was 
just as well, as it turned up. 

It was exactly a week after I had written to Inez 
and sent her Basil’s maunderings that I happened to 
get up in time to assist in the free breakfast-table. 
Basil was a bit late in coming in, and while I was 
waiting for him I noticed a rather big hat at the 


280 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


women’s table. It was green and trimmed with 
vine leaves, and so big that I couldn’t see the 
wearer’s face, and I don’t suppose I should have 
noticed it at all if I hadn’t thought it looked rather 
less greasy and wispy than its neighbours. 

I took my place in Basil’s chair and interviewed a 
few of our scoundrels, and soon afterwards he came 
in. They were just beginning to trickle out by 
that time. They were nearly all gone when it 
occurred to me to think about the green hat again, 
because I hadn’t noticed it go past me. I looked 
for it, and it was still in its place at the women’s 
table. It was the last there, and there were only 
three men left at the others. They got up and 
went just about then, and then I saw it get up from 
the table, and I caught a glimpse of the face under- 
neath it. I fell upon the last of the three hoboes, 
who was still lingering speaking to Basil, and chased 
him out into the passageway, and caught the Nova 
Scotian baronet by the scruff of the neck in passing 
and pulled the door to behind me, and stood with 
my back against it so that nobody could get in. I 
heard afterwards that I began to sing, though I 
didn’t know it at the time. First of all I sang 
“John Brown’s Body,” which I had learned from 
the buggy-driver at Probityville, and then I sang 
“ A life on the ocean wave,” and I ended with 
Mendelssohn’s “ Wedding March ” without any 
words to it. 

I expect I skipped a little to, because every now 
and then a bunch of waiters would put their heads 
round the end of the passage, looking as if they felt 
they ought to do something, and I had to shoo 
them away. 


IVO’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED 281 


The door opened suddenly behind me while I 
was'^in the middle of the “Wedding March.” 
They were both standing there, dear old Basil with 
his arm round his wife’s waist, and they were both 
looking so happy that upon my soul it was all I 
could do not to howl. 


PART VIII 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 
CONTINUED 

CHAPTER XXV 

As my hands penned the first lines of what has 
developed into this narrative, it is perhaps only 
right that I should also bring it to a close, ere 
returning it as a whole to the original wallet, where 
it may become an heirloom for Estelle’s children’s 
children, should they feel sufficient interest in their 
ancestors’ experiences. I have been careful to 
delete nothing, not even my dear Ivo’s atrocious 
libel on my deportment when Miss Hertzenstein 
kissed me — a very pleasant memory indeed — in the 
private room at Bull’s restaurant. 

I am writing these closing words with the same 
pen and in the same room in which I penned the 
first. Old Trix is lying on the hearthrug, wor- 
shipping the fire beside me, her faithful ears twitch- 
ing at my slightest movement ; I can hear 
Handasyde whistling “The Bitish Grenadiers” — 
an unpleasant trick she picked up from her late 
husband, and of which I have never been able to 
break her — over some domestic employment in the 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 288 


outer hall ; the past three months might almost 
seem a dream were it not for the sprig of orange 
blossom that lies on the desk before me and the 
abominable fragments of confetti that my best 
efforts have not yet succeeded in removing from 
my coat. 

I am not an authority in weddings, but my friends, 
including Mrs. Hathorn and Mrs. Witham, assure 
me that the ceremony in our little parish church 
was as beautiful, if less elaborate, as any in their 
experience. Personally I can only testify that one 
very happy old man nearly disgraced himself in his 
excitement by persisting for some moments in giving 
away the bridegroom instead of the bride. 

Not one of my old friends was missing from the 
breakfast which followed the wedding. Even 
Charley Padstow had his usual seat, though groan- 
ing atrociously at intervals, as though he were 
chief mourner instead of second best man, as Mrs. 
Hathorn reminded him. He has not yet quite 
recovered from the accident which befell him three 
weeks since on the day before our return, when, 
through missing his footing, he fell from the very 
apex of the triumphal arch he was supervising. 
Fortunately his fall was broken by a wagon-load of 
mangolds which happened to be passing beneath 
the arch, and he sustained no serious injuries. 
Unwilling, however, to relinquish his role of martyr 
to the cause of friendship, he has ever since made 
the most of his bruises, groaning in the most lament- 
able manner if so much as a leaf fall within ten 
yards of him. As the decanters circulated, however, 
he forgot himself more and more — in both senses 
of the word — and attempted jests of such doubtful 


284 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


propriety that dear Frank Cottery’s ear-trumpet, 
directed by Mrs. Hathorn’s unfailing discretion, 
was in almost constant requisition. 

My dear children have already started on their 
wedding journey, but I shall not be lonely in their 
absence. Lord Talboys and that most charming 
and dear lady his wife have consented to bear me 
company for a time, before their return to New 
York, where, despite all my arguments, they are 
resolutely determined to settle. 1 am glad to be 
able to record that they seem delighted with each 
other’s society, though, with an old man’s frankness, 
1 have ventured to hint to my young friend that the 
adoration with which he regards his wife’s every foot- 
step might be more wisely masked. As I discovered 
in the Consulate of Plancus, very shortly after my 
own most happy marriage, the better the woman, 
the more ready is she to accept the role of tyrant 
when offered for her acceptance. 

I am sufficiently old-fashioned to prefer that a 
story shall be brought to an end before it is 
finished, and as my unborn descendants cannot very 
well object, it pleases me to record the fortunes, so 
far as we have been able to influence them, of those 
with whom Ivo and myself were brought into con- 
tact during the time of our stay in America. And 
first of all let me record the one fault I have to find 
with my most dear son, or more strictly grandson, 
Ivo — I mean his inveterate habit of singing when 
he is happy. Estelle assures me that he has a 
melodious voice ; I am of another opinion. It was 
by the merest accident that I was able to stop him, 
in mid-stream as it were, from informing all and 
sundry that “John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 285 


in the grave,” at the precise moment when he placed 
the ring upon his bride’s finger. I was quite unable 
to prevent his bursting out into “ The Bonnie Banks 
of Loch Lomond ” as they drove away after the 
breakfast, amid an abominable shower of confetti 
and one old shoe, flung by Charley Padstow with 
such imperfect aim as to strike my godson Ned 
Witham full in the face, whence 1 expect a feud 
which it will take all my diplomacy to arrange 
within three years. Ivo infected Carrow, my 
groom-coachman, hitherto the most reticent and 
respectful of men, with the same Bacchic frenzy, so 
that while the master cacophoned from within, the 
man wailed from the box. Worst of all, my own 
dear Estelle, instead of checking her husband, was 
also singing at the top of her voice, in, I am sorry to 
say, an American accent, and quite ignoring the 
efforts of the Squirrel Patrol of Boy Scouts who, 
lined up by the roadside, were giving their favourite 
call with atrocious energy. 

Am I overstepping an old man’s privilege of 
loquacity ^ Perhaps. But I have seen so much 
misery in this world, that it is a pleasure to record 
that the sun still shines over some of us, and that as 
the French most aptly have it, “11 y a des honnetes 
gens partout.” For the rest I will be brief. 

Precisely on the wedding morning, as if timed 
by a metronome, arrived a coloured photograph 
from New York, representing the Signora Ferrati 
in a wonderful costume of pink silk, surmounted 
by a still more wonderful hat of floral design, 
and expressing a number of good wishes which, 
being unacquainted with the Italian language, I 
am unable to translate. I only know that both Ivo 


286 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


and Estelle seemed touched by what they read, and 
that Ivo declared that for the rest of his life the 
Cloud was lost in the rosy hues of a Florentine 
sunset, and that Mr. Nonno was, for a lunatic, the 
wisest man he had ever met. I am glad to add that 
Lord Talboys — a name which, in spite of every- 
thing, I prefer to Mr. Basil F. Bull, that under 
which he proposes to pass henceforward — has 
announced his intention of appointing her perveyor- 
in-ordinary of capers, anchovies, tomatoes, macaroni, 
and dill pickles to what he calls the “ Bull chain of 
restaurants,’' and that at Ivo’s earnest request he 
has promised that no account she renders shall be 
checked or in any way supervised. Whence we may, 
I suppose, take it that the future of the firm of 
Antonio Ferrati is assured. 

I must confess that I did not part on the best of 
terms with Mr. Edward F. Hertzenstein. I have 
the highest respect for him, and I am ready to admit 
that he put me right on a point in connection with 
the battle of Washington Heights, in which I am 
sorry to believe our troops were defeated for the 
only time on record in the open field. Nevertheless, 
I refuse to believe that he or any other man living 
has any shadow of right to interfere between me and 
those to whom my family considers itself indebted. 
If therefore he persists, as he has already insisted, 
in forwarding a cheque to my friend Dayrell, or 
Hobbes, towards the ingoings of the Washington 
Arms, I have arranged that it shall be returned to 
him with as much contumely as is consistent with 
the respect in which I hold him. I should perhaps 
add that his daughter, whom I really believe to be 
the most beautiful young woman I ever saw in my 


SIR EDWARD’S NARRATIVE 287 


life, though Ivo would not agree with me, was 
married upon the same day, which is to say this 
morning, as was Estelle, and that the occasion was 
celebrated by an interchange of cablegrams the cost 
of which, as Ivo certainly cannot afford it, will, I 
suppose, in the end come upon me. I am very 
glad that it is so, let me say at once. Mr. Hapgood 
struck me — I say it without any suggestion of 
offence — as the best type of Englishman ; I wish 
him and his wife all happiness. 

I am glad to record that before we left New 
York we succeeded in finding Mr. Craig, the Irish- 
man with whom Miss Williamson forgathered on 
the benches of Union Square. Although he is, I 
gather, very much past his prime, Lord Talboys has 
found him* some altogether unnecessary work in 
connection with one of his many restaurants, and 
his son is at present in a sanatorium in Los Angeles, 
California. 

My friend Dayrell, or Hobbes, with some slight 
assistance from his friends, has become the licensee 
of the Washington Arms (formerly the Duke of 
Edinborough) at Mallinge, in my own licensing 
district. I have no doubt that he will do well 
there. Fortunately, the holding of a licence is by 
him included among the occupations of a gentleman 
as fully as is the practice of the confidence-trick or 
the command of an army. 

In thus fulfilling his gentlemanly destiny he will, 
I am confident, be ably seconded by his wife. I 
need not say that they were both present at the 
wedding, when the baby crowed almost as loudly as 
Ivo himself. I made it my business to call in at the 
Washington Arms a day or two since, when, from 


288 


HUNT THE SLIPPER 


what I saw of the vigour — a shade acerbic to 
masculine eyes — with which she marshalled her 
barmaids to their duty, it was clearly evident that 
she has regained that self-respect which Lord 
Talboys declares, with some authority, to be the 
most precious of human possessions. She already 
decidedly bullies her husband : in a very few years 
I am convinced she will rule him with a rod of iron. 
I can only say, in that case, God speed her elbow, 
for if ever woman earned the right to that display 
of outward authority so dear to the feminine heart, 
she most assuredly has. 

Let me now — the honk-honking of his execrable 
devil-car warns me that Dick Witham and his wife 
have arrived to share my evening meal. Let it 
remind me that, however much I loathe and detest 
motorists, and all their works, “ il y a des honn^tes 
gens partout.” 




THE END 


W. Jolly & Sons, Printers, Aberdeen 






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